Anti-Pixel
by esperanzainvitus
Summary: I know about the whole "OC from our world transported to the alternate reality" and what-not; even I have wanted to be a part of those worlds. But after being warped into another dimension, witnessing the real dangers, my enthusiasm falters. Nevertheless, new friends and allies return the chips of my sanity and resolve. In the end, I'm protecting my own dream. D/C: I don't own TF
1. Prologue

It was like any other day in the daily life of Nyla Conners - a 5'2 fourteen-year old with peach-like skin, doe-like brown eyes, and dark hair. The alarm clock beeped at 5:50 in the morning. It intensified its mantra until the teen banged her fist on its hard surface. With her hand stinging, she would rise from her twin bed with a groan, slide out from her covers, and trudge towards the bathroom across the hall in a deep slump. After taking care of her hygienic needs, she'd return to her bedroom, grab her glasses, and make her bed so she'd escape another lecture administered by her mother, who's waiting downstairs, that talked about the importance of cleaning up one's room before starting the day. Nyla was already used to this routine - having been repeating it since she was eleven years old. However, her younger brother, six-year old Hugh, had left his own mattress plagued with undone covers and littered with stuffed monkeys. The boy was already awoken by his sister's alarm and rushed to use the second bathroom downstairs near the kitchen and dining room. The Conners siblings argued a year ago about their timings to use the bathroom until the oldest Conner, their father, suggested to Hugh to move his toothbrush to the lower floor's bathroom. After all, the growing boy wanted to be as early as possible to catch a little game of hoops at the nearby park.

And so, after carefully scrutinizing her clothes through the drawers of her armory, Nyla arrived downstairs in a black zip-up sweater that reached her knees, a white button-up, and indigo capris. Her mother was cooking sunny-side eggs and toasting bread, while Hugh was tapping his shoes impatiently at the wood of the back door from his chair adjacent to the breakfast table. Judging by the wetness of his lips and the unwashed bowl standing on the counter, the sister assumed he had finished eating cereal. No black shoulder bag laid on the coffee table - her dad had left already.

"Mom, I'll take care of the dishes. You go on ahead and take Hugh to the park."

A middle-aged petite women with dark eyes, long eyelashes, and full, slightly frowning lips turned to the teen. If anyone knew better, they'd have thought her mom was from Southeast Asia or Indonesia rather than the Southern Americas.

"Thanks, Nyl' ("Nile"). But I can't seem to find my car keys," Mrs. Conners lifted and dumped a fried egg on a slightly burnt toast - Nyla's favorite.

"Did you check your bag?" The daughter always found it amusing how this was the - _How many times has it been now? Oh, whatever_. Mrs. Conners manages to forget the keys every morning, which may be because she just wasn't entirely happy with the night shifts she lately participated at the hospital. The most common place she'd misplace them would be the handbag she'd use the previous night.

"Shit," the woman cursed so softly after glancing at the oven timer/clock, only Nyla who was nearest could hear, "Hugh wait out back. Let me get my stuff." Mrs. Conners turned off the stove and dropped the appliances she'd been using into the sink.

Nyla dropped down on a wooden chair and chewed on her toast, occasionally plopping a tomato slice into her mouth from the salad bowl resting on the breakfast table. She absent-mindedly swung her feet back and forth and recounted the materials she'd need for the school day, realizing she needed to check if her Walkman was fully charged or not. Right then, Mrs. Conners approached from the living room with a dark handbag and jangling keys on one hand. Giving a kiss on the side of her daughter's head and receiving back an Eskimo kiss from the teen, the petite woman swung open the back door and closed it softly enough as to not wake up the neighbor's dog, locking it in place. Nyla could hear the backyard entrance gate squeal open and then thud closed.

Checking the time from the oven, she contemplated the timing to catch up to her best friend, Elena, who would be having her older brother drive her to school. _Meh, I need the walk,_ she concluded and chomped the last bit of egg on toast. Chugging a glass of water, she scrubbed the dishes and pans grease-free, ran up the stairs and grabbed her Walkman from its charger. It was fully-charged - _Awesome!_ Releasing the charger from the outlet, she stuffed it in the smallest pocket on her backpack, which laid next to her bedpost. Snatching it, she snugged the straps onto her shoulders. Grabbing her Nokia from its own charger at the endtable, she opened it to see the latest messages she received from Elena.

 **Get this. Roger suggested the idea of doing the marriage.**

That caught Nyla off guard. She knew exactly what her BFF was referring to, though. Apparently, the trio of friends discovered that Elena's Scottish terrier and Roger's dalmatian were gay and in love with each other five month's ago after a coinciding vet appointment - where both dogs were literally licking each others' faces off. The two girls shipped the dog-mance like UPS on a Christmas run.

It was Roger's reaction that didn't bode well. Being the homophobe he was, he screamed, "Holy ape shit outta' Batman!," at the vet's. This awarded a slap from an angry mother and a threat of expulsion from the vet himself. Despite his phobia, he remained tolerant, since Elena promised a good ass-whooping.

Closing the phone and plugging in her headphones, Nyla swiped the device into her right capris-pocket after choosing her personally-made album of B. Ames remixes. Smiling to _4 Werks_ , she ran back down the stairs on her tippy-toes. Slipping on her sneakers, Nyla fixed the bent in heels and used one hand to open the front door. She pulled her set of house keys from the box nailed to the wall. Slipping out, she stepped into moistness and closed the door, locking it secured. Feeling her phone vibrate, she tugged it out and saw the reminder which was set to 6:10 - **Give Roger kick in the ass**.

 _Will do._

The junior arrived to the towering high school in time for her sixth song to start. She then advised herself to save it for today's PE. Seeing her phone's time stencil 6:43, Nyla decided to waste her early period at the library before stopping by the usual meeting place, where she was pretty sure Elena was harrassing Roger's love for the vice-captain of the school's dance team. Little did the boy know, Elena had just the ittiest-bittiest crush on him. Sadly, Roger was _so_ dense, maybe as much as Elena is to the fact that her antics were far too obvious. Just one look at the two of them screamed "NOTICE ME SENPAI." Sighing at this thought, Nyla opened the heavy glass door of the library. _Fucks' sake, is this triple-paned?_

After a nap against to a huge open encyclopedia on a pedestal, Nyla opened her phone to see she had still 20 minutes to class (7:20). Sweeping herself, she gave a sheepish sorry to the librarian, who shared a knowing smile. Leaving the cold archive room, the teen dodged cliques and bunched friends clogging the hallways in sloppy rivers. Making her way to the wrestling/weight-training room, she found Elena holding a punching bag while Roger swung a punch at the sack. _He's getting better at least_ , Nyla thought as she watched Elena slightly lean backward from the force. Since Roger, as always, punched whilst facing his back towards the entrance, his butt was an easy target because of his stance. Inhaling silently, Nyla spun on one foot and landed a good roundhouse kick - hard enough to break the boy out of position, fall forward, and _poomf_ his head against the sack, sliding down in embarrassing finality.

"Hey Rogel," Nyla pronounced the secret ship name ("Roah-jel") purposefully, earning a glare from Elena before the friend assisted the fallen boy, who recovered with a hazy look in his eyes.

"'Sup, Nyl" Roger rubbed his reddened knuckles and massaged his face, unaware that she addressed him as a ship-name. _Guess his head is just as dense as those iron fists of his,_ she snickered inwardly.

"Wannabe the maid of honor? I picked the priest. But since you and Els both are pretty great singers, either one of you have to sing the theme."

"Opera is not my forte, you know? Besides, did you pick a date?" Nyla cringed, thinking of her past as a soprano soloist.

"This Saturday," Roger noticed his friend's face scrunch up in confusion, "Mom and Dad are leaving to have bonding time with long-distance friends. And, Elena seriously couldn't shut up about it."

Said girl jumped up to Nyla and excitedly confirmed, "That's right! Think of floating bubbles rather than throwing rice, a small buffet of dog food and our own junk food, and a flower crown with a plastic veil! It's perfect! I've always wanted to plan a wedding, but never thought it'd be this exciting and tiring with all these ideas."

"Uh-huh; Personal space, chickity," Nyla pushed the leaning girl with her index finger to the forehead, "As much as all this is pretty extraordinary, isn't it unnecessary?"

Roger secretly agreed to her with a slight nod whilst Elena pouted, "That's what you said to the Harry Potter marathon, but stayed up to the _Prisoner of Azkaban_."

"Are you kidding me? I had a brain fart trying to digest a giant school with classes of screaming plants, flying books, and kids wearing cloaks that are fire hazards, especially with all those torches around!" exasperatedly spoke the not-so-fan-of-HP.

"Oh come on, it's a magic school," Elena deadpanned.

"Speaking of magic, Mr. Quinn is planning to show us how to change the color of fire using salts," Roger broke in, knowing that Nyla just wasn't as interested in Harry Potter. She was always into the non-mainstream literature and comics. It was comics that always interested her more, since she loved art far more than writing; no thanks to Adv. Lit. and Lang. Even though Marvel or DC didn't appeal to her due to the overwhelming size of their franchise, Nyla had a growing knowledge about the superheroes and side characters. Rather, she liked original comics from local and rising artists as well as manga. Due to her fast reading time and her easily-distracted character, Nyla couldn't cramp enough time to spend watching cartoons and anime. Nor does she like binge-watching - a girl like her loves to sleep. She was always a dreamer.

"You serious?! I thought he canceled that lab because of that last year's fucking idiot who wanted to see if he can make colored ashes!" Elena jokingly showed her grudge on the shortened number of labs she and her class are able to perform this year due to past, explosive incidents.

"He changed his mind. After all, we got Nyl as our patrolman." Nyla only rolled her eyes. She was always known as a "Cop-girl" because she always acted and talked much more maturely than most girls. She blames it on her cosplays as a butler and the long list of historical detective shows that included _Sherlock_ and _The Murdock Mysteries._

"Psh, if she was some sorta' cop, she could've packed on cuffs. I wouldn't hesitate to lock Mr. Quinn to his desk and lock the door to ensure our escape. He wouldn't even reach his emergency call button," Elena darkly chuckled and perked her head up at the familiar ding of the pre-class bell.

As much as locking people up was not Nyla's cup of tea, she never enjoyed Mr. Quinn or his teachings. Even she, a person who likes science more than math and English, would fall smack asleep on her desk after hearing seven minutes of his lecture. She shared a long sigh to no one in particular. _Fuck, today just gets more depressingly familiar._

"Nyl! You're daydreaming again!" Roger teased the girl who swayed slightly at where she stood in the room as he followed Elena who skipped out. Nyla turned on her Nokia to see that she'd need to be music-free for the next half-hour so as to not waste battery power that she'd need to turn her gears for the six-hour school day. _I'm craving some ice cream, or rather some cherry soda. Yeah, I can save sixty-five cents from the soda for a granola bar later._ Deciding her future snacks, she turned to follow her two friends to Chemistry class with a stop to the vending machines in mind.

"... so that's how we designate the emission spectrum of each element."

 _And he still hasn't explained how they can tell which shade of each color the flame will be,_ Nyla groaned at Mr. Quinn's explanation for spectroscopy. Honestly, she felt like she'd become dumber the more she had class with this guy. _But he's far better than Mr. Williams,_ she reasoned her inner frustration, remembering the "fluff" class she took with him last year for Biology.

She fitted the splash-free goggles over her glasses, hearing her male lab partner, Eric, snicker "six-eyes." _And you still have a crush on me,_ she thought tiredly remembering his past teases. Turns out he found her attractive but was far too "cool" for a bespectacled girl. _Oh well, at least he's smart enough to listen to me._

The lab was supposed to be risk-free and Eric actually showed caution despite his usual carefree character. Seeing how quickly he hand the job of starting the fire to Nyla, the teen could only hide a smile at his noticeable pyrophobia. Clicking the firestarter over the Bunsen-burner, a flame manifested into the space of leaking gas. Facinated, Eric leaned close enough to watch Nyla prepare a sample of lithium chloride on a popsicle stick and hover it over the flame. Nearby onlookers gasped as the flame turned reddish-pink. Nyla could've shared a smile with their astonishment until she witnessed someone carelessly nudge a burner's plug out of it's gas exhaust, which was positioned to direct its gas to an array of paper bowls carrying potassium chloride, calcium hydroxide, and sodium chloride. Knowing full well that those salts were highly explosive if near together and exposed to heat, she began running around the desks, shoving people away, and yelling at Mr. Quinn in a hysterical attempt to catch his attention and turn off the exhaust. When she pushed the last person away, she reached to turn the knob was instantly jolted backwards onto the window. Her ears ring and she felt a tear equal to that of ripped papers. Her head hit hard against the window pane, the impact bring black spots into her vision. Despite not hearing the explosion, the aftermath of the reaction allowed her to hear one coherent phrase, " _SHIT!_ "

 **A/N: Honestly, I can't believe I'm doing this. *Sigh* But I have had so many ideas for my OC story in this one. Might as well try it out. D/C: Transformers does not belong to me!**


	2. confirm(1)

_This deserves Roger's "Holy ape shit Batman."_

Currently, I am lying on asphalt - in the middle of a road between a block of 1-story and 2-story shopping joints and convenience stores with the time of day confirmed to be night judging by the moon not too unnoticeable over the heads of a few buildings. My head terribly aches and I am in need of Advil. My legs seem to be numb, probably from lack of sugar-intake or I've been lying here unmoved for some few hours. Reaching a hand to the bridge of my nose, I inhaled and exhaled rather wheezily. _Shit_... _Wait - my glasses._ Instantly, I breathed a sigh of relief when I felt the familiar frame and slight pressure on the bridge of my nose. My heart swelled in contempt to know that the lenses showed no cracks. Now that that's done, I needed to know what's happening.

Name: Nyla Conners

Age: 14

Parents: Gail Conners (F) and Ivan Conners (M)

Siblings: Hugh Conners

Current Situation: Tired; splitting headache; hungry and thirsty; lost in an unidentifiable place with no history of arriving here.

I reached into my sweater pocket for my school ID card. Everything fits my analysis and the card was still at the same state as I last used it - none of Elena's stick figure drawings on the back were smudged heavily enough to be undecipherable. _At least I'm not entirely amnesiac_ , I thought as I placed the card back in the pocket, _but just lying here makes me anxious over the matter of what I'd done to end up here_. I definitely remember the leaking gas spout and the exposed chemicals; there must have been some sort of explosion. Hell, I might be dead and this somewhat ghost town might be limbo.

My heart tightened at the thought of death. To cool myself down, I sat up with my knees to my chest and performed breathing exercises and closed my eyes in an attempt to keep myself from crying. Using my thumb, I brushed away premature drops and checked my pockets to find my Nokia, Walkman, and headphones still present in my jeans' pockets. Then I felt around my other sweater pocket and found the granola bar I kept for later back at school. _Why do I still have this?_ Shrugging after detecting that it was fresh by taking a peek in the inside, I opened the wrapper fully and ate the first bar of the pair. Feeling the pieces grow smaller, tasting the sweet wheat, and hearing the crunches gave a sense of serenity at the discovery that my senses were fine. I gripped harder at the smooth wrapper. I held back a sob. _I still feel human._

I hadn't noticed a car approaching until I heard a loud honk. Realizing that I looked like some deranged idiot sitting in the middle of the road and eating a granola bar, I jackknifed onto my feet and stumbled out of the way. I didn't get far due to the sound of car door clunking open and a male voice shouting, "Hey! Are you alright there, kid?"

Halting my escape sequence, I turned around, grimacing at the glare of the headlights emitted by a black convertible, and faced a tanned, middle-aged man with a crooked nose, rosey cheeks, and really low-cut dark hair showing signs of greying. He was watching me with his eyebrows bent downward, steeling an expression of worry and suspicion. I couldn't see the passenger who was inside the car due to the light. However, the long hair suggested a woman.

 _What do I...?_ "I-I'm lost, sir."

"Are you new in town?"

"I think..."

"You 'think'? Kid, this is Tranquility. I would know a new face in this neighborhood when I see it."

"Hush, Ron! You're terrifying her! For all we know, she might be being chased by some madmen after committing a crime," the shadow of the lady in the car opened and closed a mouth in rapid movement. The turn of her head in order to admonish her traveling partner allowed me to notice she had reddish hair under the lights of the shops and street lights.

 _Ron? Tranquility? Why does that sound so familiar?_ My heart beat quickened as my mind clouded in several suspicions and wild assumptions. One possibility stood out of all of them: I had become mentally insane after the explosion. My family moved to this place to seclude me. Now, I'm breaking house arrest and have crossed halfway over the country, evading police and search parties. _But that still doesn't explain why I haven't changed physically and clothes-wise,_ I argued internally, realizing I still had the clothes I had worn to school. The ID card confirmed the debunk altogether.

"Now, Judy. If she had done something bad, she wouldn't be lying there just to wait for her death!"

 _Judy? Red-hair! Ron and Judy of Tranquility, Nevada! Hang on, these people are from that robot-car franchise;_ Transformers _! But... impossible! They're_ fictional characters _straight from a movie series me and Hugh watched last month, right? But, they look far too much like the actor and actress. They just can't be?_

Ron shook his head from Judy's wild imagination. "I'm sorry...? What's your name, kid?"

I perked up at that. _Shit! Do I lie?_

"Nyla..." I slowly pronounced. Ron seemed satisfied to at least get my first name. However, Judy opened the door of the black convertible wearing a small frown on her face. She started approaching me. My fight/flight decision-making system kicked in instantly, but was taking far too long to process the dangers in this situation and what was the best method to evade the couple.

"Ron! Have you gone blind?" she reached my face and cupped me with her hands, squinting her eyes demonstrating error-free examination. They flashed with a glint of worry. "Her face is burnt!"

I reached for my face with my right hand, when suddenly Judy tonged her own hands. Her face morphed into that of horror. "Her hand's burnt too!"

"Jesus!" Ron exclaimed after getting a better look at my face.

 _What?_ The burns can't be that serious. Then again, that explosion in that classroom was pretty sudden and reactive. Or maybe this was the consequences of a struggle I faced here in Tranquility? Either way, I needed to get these treated. A hospital may be the best option, but it may risk my identity as a nonexistent person or an escapee of an asylum. I gulped at these thoughts; _I can't expose myself either way!_ I still have to find out more about what happened. _Think fast!_ I can lie about being endangered - I might as well have been.

"No!" I shakily yelled, causing the married couple to recoil from my outburst, "N-no hospital. Terrible people might find me. I-I-I was told that Tranquility would provide me a sanctuary until things died down. But I was already an amnesiac by the time I received the message. My passport and provisions were in a backpack that was destroyed by a bomb, so I've been walking around Nevada aimlessly with no clue to my past but my name and age; Nyla Conners; 14."

 _My_ fucking _boba and milk; I'm Jason Bourne._

Judy showed compassion while Ron wore apprehension, but I continued, "All I need is a place to stay long enough to allow me food and water until I can find a job to provide for myself."

Silence impregnated the road with the exception of cars not too far away and the buzzing of neon signs down the block. These sounds all the more annoyed me since I was taking the hard hit of anxiety; I could be rejected my one chance of a place to stay with Internet connection - enough to investigate my home, my identity, and the explosion.

"You really have no place to stay?" Ron softly asked.

Reality crashed onto me like a tidal waves carrying cars, bricks, and boats. These debris represented my doubt of each person related and important to me. I shuddered and lifted my eyes to Ron, jaw tight. "Yeah, I don't."

Ron and Judy glanced at each other as if sharing a telepathic conversation. I counted my heartbeat to 17 until Ron's lips graced a sincere smile and he looked at me with soft eyes.

"You're welcome to stay with us...?" Judy snorted when Ron's epic fatherly-moment failed at the moment he realized he forgot my name, despite having said it twice.

 _My god_. My eyes burned and my vision blurred; tears were rapidly forming. My breaths became hitched and unsteady. A situation like this had an intensity that was incomparable to all those times I misplaced myself at the mall, the airport, and Walmart. People actually cared to help me and call two strangers to pick me up. But now, I'm in another state halfway across the country. My family - my friends - are just _gone_. I'm in a place where a movie turns out real. There's just no way in hell I can cope on my own. _Everyone and everything I knew doesn't exist._ The stab of fear and loneliness prickled irritatingly at the center of my being. _I know you,_ I hissed in my mind, futilely staring at the couple in front of me. Knowing something that could shred the last of my sanity if taken into the wrong hands or slipped out carelessly gripped my heart and mind. I could almost swear I heard wicked cackling in the air when there shouldn't be. Suddenly, the darkness that backed from the lights aligning the block looked almost too mocking. The signs; the wood and brick; the pothole-free gravel; the construction sites...

Everything started to look big, unfamiliar, and _scary_ \- because I just couldn't ground out the reality of the situation. This is Earth, but not _my_ Earth. This is not my universe and I'm alone in this predicament.

 _You're such a kid._

I ran to Ron and Judy and whimpered pathetically as I crossed the distance to them and encircled them with my arms. It was a selfish and an unreasonable action, I know, but I told myself repeatedly through my thoughts that I was allowed this moment of helplessness, especially when I luckily found people who could've just minded their own business and left me to wander around on my own. So, I said my name over and over and over again, worried that I might lose my own name if I can't say it to the couple I was about to be taken under care of.

"Come on, those burns look bad," Judy guided me to the convertible by gently pushing against my shoulders. Ron followed her route and entered the driver's seat.

I compliantly sat at the back and peeked at the rearview mirror to see Ron glancing at me. Noticing me staring back, his eyes crinkled and his facial silhouette molded. I could tell by the raised cheekbones that he was sharing me another smile. Feeling modest, I smiled softly back as if in assurance. The man then pulled the lever to drive from neutral and roared the car in an attempt to check its state then smoothly glided the vehicle down the road. I felt the whoosh of the wind against my neck, ears, eyes, mouth - every nook and cranny on my face and torso. The flaps of the collared shirt I wore under my sweater lightly smacked my chin, tickling the skin on rapid impact. As lights soared ahead and my eyes squinted against the wind and the dark contrast of the night upon the town, I fought the sudden feeling of drowsiness, worrying that if I closed my eyes, my head would fly off or I'd wake up to another, stranger place. Then, Judy started to hum a tune strange in its own way; choppy but comforting enough to put me at ease, as if the melody itself was spelling me in a daze.

 _I wonder if Mom hummed like this at home._

Before I knew what I was doing, I hummed the familiar tune of _**The Spine**_ _(1)_.

(1) _The Spine_ is an original song composed by Darren Korb, who works for SuperGiant Games and has prospered in his music career due to his contribution to SGG's game, _Transistor_. On the hummed version, Ashley Barrett plays vocals.


	3. confirm(2)

"Mom! Who the hell is that?!"

 **OST for humor moments: "Fluffing a Duck" by Kevin MacLeod**

I woke from a slumber I wasn't aware of having been in and rubbed my eyes and then the curves of my face, massaging them in an attempt to relieve morning stress, but felt slickness. _Damn, burn creme and damn you, howler;_ _I already miss that alarm clock._ There was a shuffle of fabric and I turned my head to see a boy a few years senior to me positioning himself a few feet away from me with his arms in mid-flail. He seriously looked like I could pounce him if I wanted to. I probably looked like a wounded animal with the salve over the healing burns. Rubbing my eyes again and placing my glasses, which were clipped to the seam of my shirt, back on my face, I nearly jumped back from the edge of the couch and crashed myself onto the wall. The teenager was the spitting image of Shia Labeouf for gods' sake!

"Samuel! Is that any way to greet a girl?!" Judy walked into the living room, which was currently my sleeping quarters, and chided the Labeouf-look-alike without his beard - as if unbeknownst he was a major celebrity. _Oh right, this is an alternate reality where fictional characters are real. He's Samuel... Wickedy? No, Witwicky, if I remember correctly._ Judy and Samuel's attention then spun back to me when the older Witwicky suggested her son to properly introduce himself.

To my amusement, the teen spazzed a bit and then shakily held up a hand. _Oh, he's not used to girls other than his mom._ I gave him a small smile and shook his hand with a bit vigor.

"Hi, I'm Nyla Conners. I'll be staying at your place for a while until I can find a respectable place to work and, hopefully, my own place to call home."

Taking his time to process my situation, Sam genuinely smiled and said, "Samuel Witwicky - but you can just call me Sam."

Judy then cut in, "I forgot! I didn't introduce myself once meeting you! Silly me!" Shaking my hand briskly yet hard with her excitement, she greeted me, "I'm Judy Witwicky, and I'm glad you two got to finally meet. Ron, my husband, and I had discussed earlier this morning that since you have no place to go back to, you can stay here; employed or not. We'd be happy to accommodate you, and you seem like a nice girl who just needs to take in Nevada territory."

"N-No! I can't do that to you! Plus, I'd most likely trouble you, and that's not the brightest side for both of us," I stumbled through my words and noticed Sam's eyebrow's furrowing in curiosity over my so-called "problems."

"But you can just be our gardener! After all, it takes more than these wrinkly hands to make sure my pride is at its greenest!" Judy jovially raised her hands to show its coarseness, despite how there was little to none, and gestured to the yard where there was a stone path, a fountain, and flowers.

"What are you saying, Judy?" Ron walked into our conversation from the back of the house, "Nyla can't spend her days gardening 'til her back is broken by the time she enters college! Besides she's got those burns to worry about; no need to add fire to the flame."

"Hmph! Three boys and one girl in this house," my slight confusion at the mention of a fourth person was perceived by Judy, who clarified, "Mojo, our Chihuahua."

 _Oh, right. The one that pees on Ironhide._ I knew the main Autobots by heart, but my knowledge in anime was far stronger than western films.

"What does it take to have a girl-friend around here?" Sam choked at Judy's remark, probably thinking about how lesbian the phrase sounded when she emphasized "girl-friend". Ron didn't look the least bit peeved.

"It's fine, Judy. I'll find something to do here," I assured her, albeit vainly. I was clueless as to what I wanted to be once I reached adulthood even in my world. I looked at a Chihuahua speedily trotting on his paws and instantly reminisced Elena's excitement over her terrier's wedding. _No depressing thoughts now, Nyl._ I mentally shook myself. While the possibility of never seeing Elena, Roger, or my family again plagued my conscience, I couldn't afford to breakdown now. _Too much happening too fast_ , I thought, recounting last nights events and turmoil. _If this continues, I won't -_

" _Nyla?_ " I spluttered myself awake from my internal conflict, realizing Ron and Judy staring at me with slight worry. _They shouldn't be so caring to a stranger like me,_ I bitterly thought.

"Sorry, it's just that everything's happening so fast. With me being amnesiac, I'm not sure how helpful I can be or how capable I am of to do anything," I smoothly explained my true feelings, well most of them. _I'm so underhanded._

"Don't worry about that so much!" Ron rested a hand on my shoulder, like a father would to a child, "You have - What? - three years to decide your future?"

I blinked, surprised he remembered my age from last night's events.

Knowingly, I grinned at his antics to ease my conflicting mind, "And isn't that like - What? - over 1000 days? I'm sure by the 1000th day, I'll be in Russia playing an accordion while freezing my ass off."

I instantly slapped a hand over my mouth, realizing the sarcasm and vulgarity at the last part.

But Judy gave out a huff of laughter, "And what? Dress up as a _Matryoshka_?" the woman slapped her thigh and cackled. Even Sam snickered, obviously imagining me wearing old-style doll makeup and a giant bib over an hour-glass-shaped dress.

My face reddened when Ron finally chuckled,"With more wit like that, you might as well be mistaken for a Witwicky."

"Come on, sweetheart. Let's put some more lotion on those wounds," Judy giddily began guiding me back to the house. I looked over my shoulder to Ron and mentally asked, "Really?" I mean, unless this was really unscented lotion, this was burn salve. Ron only shrugged in response. My eyes immediately strained, raising eyelids in the most expressive way of utmost horror of what will become of condition with Judy as my nurse.

 _~*/*/*/*/*~_

I spent a week searching for any resemblance of my past, my friends, my family, and the incident to the alternate reality here so that I can find an alternate-me. I discovered that it was 2006 now - a year before the first movie came. I looked up all the old houses I had lived in my reality and saw different houses and streets. My school doesn't exist: I looked up the address and found an old daycare instead. Then I looked up indoor lab failures in public schools that killed a female student, and received zilch. I tried male afterwards, and found an article on a teacher who died due to a lab accident near Tranquility. _Sure, I could be an old dude. Why not?_

I instantly gave up on the search and wallowed in a state of absent-mindedness and extreme depression. I had no idea how much energy I had in me to keep smiling. Despite repeating over the fact that I would never see everyone again, I reasoned myself that I had to look onto a future for myself here in this dimension. Seeing Judy and Ron so anxious over my turmoil, with the sliver of regret on their faces - How can I not smile when these people have put their happiness on the line for me? That was where Sam became my therapist unconsciously. Rather, Sam instantly became my older brother. After a month living with the Witwickys and nights of bonding time with him, he knew when I was down and how to make me laugh for a straight fifteen minutes. Unknowingly devoted to his name, Sam's moments of sass and spazz were on par with Roger's moments. Because of their similarities, I refused to think of Sam as my best friend's replacement. My heart just couldn't take it. Despite my fear of seeing Sam as a substitute, I remained his friend even at his darker hours, like when he started getting depressed from all the harassment operated by a certain "Trent" and members of the football team. The older teen stayed on his toes thanks to my presence and his aspirations to be Mikaela Banes future boyfriend. The aftermath of that phase of self-change was us become even more closer together in spite of the little time we had spent together, especially when I was on what seemed like an eternal job hunt.

It was because of Sam that I was able to find a job as a local traveling tutor who teaches middle-schoolers chemistry and biology. Thanks to Sam, he allowed me access to some his assignments and textbooks since I had to spend most of the time at... _home_. _Yeah, it sounds about right._ Because I was constantly moving, though, I had very small social circles. Judy and Ron attempted to solve my social deviation by inviting over people my age. I didn't mind their schemes, but in the end, I only made few friends. _Besides, outta' sight, outta' mind_ ; my tasking tutoring sessions made up most of my time _._ As much as forcing myself in seclusion never dwelled well on my slightly extrovert personality, I needed to keep a low profile so as to not have an interrogation from nosy people. This was after all a neighborhood, and the Witwickys were pretty open people.

My presence here especially changed the Witwickys' life. Compared to the movies, Sam became much cleaner and definitely showed less grease on his skin as did the boy I met in 2006. He even started adopting the buzz-cut! Judy became much more sociable with several neighbors due to my tutor-student relationships with their children, and the neighborhood saw the wild fun in the middle-aged woman. Ron, apparently, grew much more verbally open about his intentions behind his actions like pranks or teases that unnerved Sam and me. Hell, compared to my own dad, he said "please", "sorry", and "thank you" much more sincerely and frequently. This, in turn, made him appear less of an asshole to Sam. Actually, he's still an asshole, but a pretty nice asshole to hang around with. The Witwicky boy may be insistent, but I could tell he liked this development on his parents and himself.

Miles, Sam's supposed bro, met me through pure accident. Imagine a girl walking down the street, calm and collected, until she finds a dog bounding to her. In self-defense, she lifted her leg to kick the dog, but was knocked the wind out of her by the friendly fire of a paintball gun belonging to Miles. Sam was livid at the fist-sized bruise on my right hip. Miles, who was apparently targeting the dog under the belief that was trying to attack a victim of a house fire, shot and missed. The guy desperately asked for forgiveness and suggested that I would make him his slave. Seeing how unnecessary the idea was and how adamant he was to preserve his friendship with Sam, I, of course, forgave him but told him to be my best friend in return. The guy was so happy, he dared to kiss me on the cheek, causing Sam to chase him around the Witwickys' yard for a good hour. _Why didn't he join football if he can run that fast and tackle Miles? Oh, right..._

Miles became quick friends with Sam. However when he displayed his... uniqueness through tree climbing, cartwheeling, jumping jacks, and other aerobic activities in broad daylight and public places, Sam began worrying about his social life and compatibility with girls. One time, he had nearly snapped Miles's head off when Trent accused the two boys as gays during a PE lesson. The asshole, who was greatly amused with Sam's fury, persuaded Sam to hang around with the douche. At first, Sam thought this would be a chance to gain Mikaela's attention - and _boy_ , how wrong he was. He instead became a walking wallet and a stress ball for Trent and his gang after some time of scripted bromance. Frustrated over his complex and naivety, I literally slammed Sam's pride down the gutter and did an angry review on his actions to the point of which my voice drowned out metal music and scared Mojo off to the next block with Judy running after him. I convinced the poor Witwicky to apologize to the heart-broken Miles. Neither of his parents, who both saw that my anger towards their son was one that had pure intention, defended him or stopped me in my rage mode. Sam would never live down his douchey attitude towards Miles, who was probably the first ever true friend he had. Afterward, Sam treated Miles, albeit better than he did in the movie.

Thus, us, the trio, were stuck like glue despite me being younger than the both of them. I saw both Sam and Miles as older brothers. Sam returned the sibling love. Miles - he had the smallest crush on me but finally told me that he'd never see me like that unless I saw him as more than a friend; he would probably fall for me again. I would have cooed at how sweet he told me that, if only he weren't climbing a tree at that moment. But in the end, I never developed romantic feelings for Miles. I wasn't ready for any relationships otherwise.

In about half a year, my burns cooled their redness back to peach. If a person looked at me at mere millimeters from my face, he or she would notice the slightly unmatched areas where they belonged. In addition, I matured. My dark hair was shortened up to my trapezes while my bangs where cut up to my chin and then in symmetrical layers. Because of the humidity in Nevada, the locks tended to curl of their own record. Judy called the look cute and perfectly fitting for me. All the walking and small meals for being a mobile tutor enabled me to gain delicate muscles and slightly more defined cheek bones. In addition, I lost weight considerably - from 121 to 98, which leaned to the lighter side for a 5' 3" girl like me, in half a year. I preserved my fashion style, though. I kept wearing a collared button up with either jeans or capris. My black sneakers remained intact and almost brand-new because of my devotion to keep them clean. Unfortunately, I couldn't keep my sweater forever. It still hangs on the coat hanger with Ron's poncho as its companion.

Judy complained about my demands for sunblock, saying that a tan wouldn't be that bad for me. I never liked having a tan because I liked my mother's peach-tone due to her Indonesian lineage and I worried that the areas where my burns were would be resurrected to their angry red. Sam, seeing my distress, bought me sunblock and an umbrella. Because I wanted my umbrella to be original, I took it into my own hands to decorate the inside a bright blue sky with clouds. To say I was the topic of the road was an understatement; drivers still look in awe at "Tranquility's Mary Poppins." The rumor spreads every now and then that Miles would often pop in " _supercalifragilisticexpialidocious_ " whenever he comes over to the house or describes the weather.

My electronic devices weren't hard to charge. My Walkman was a USB device. Finding a power feeder for my Nokia Lumia was harder until I researched that the Kindle first-generation resembled my own Nokia charger. Thus, a trip to the electronics store never brought suspicion to Sam. He still didn't hear my made-up story from Ron and Judy, but was smart enough to know that it was a sensitive topic for me. After all, I was still coping.

Strangely, though expected, my songs were still saved in both devices. The WiFi belonged to this universe, so everything based on Internet access and the Cloud from my world - like my comic book library, non-re-uploaded ebooks, and my digital art Sketch app - were gone. _I guess I can start from scratch, but my comics were my golden ticket to paradise on a comfy bed._

Life continued on as tranquil as the city promised. I didn't care how much Sam complained about how boring it was. It was an alright place to be called a sanctuary for an inter-dimensional traveler. However, its because of my awareness of being inter-dimensional that reminded me of the upcoming obstacles and struggles Sam and Mikaela must face with the Autobots just as 2007 arrives. The more the calendar pages piled in the trash, the more gut-wrenching I feel, and the more often I kept reminding myself not to jinx myself every night I clung to the apprehension of the near future.

 **Outro Music: "Haunted" by Halsey**


	4. confirm(3)

The day has finally come: The day Sam got his own first car.

main Initiate picture {

start();

("Transformers");

"main".length

}

= **length undefined**

"...the hell?" a bespectacled man breathily exclaimed in front of a computer screen filled with selections of different movies, and one small window popped up in front. Grunting out further pleasantries, he clicked on the hyperlink and waited with a finger tapping his bicep over his crossed arms. _This better be legit._ The man sighed as the screen blacked out into a loading screen.


	5. confirm(4)

**Intro Music:** _ **Bates Motel**_ **OST - "Norma's Theme"**

It was the middle of Sam's 11th year. One day, he came straight home stammering to Ron and Judy about a school project, as though he had discovered the most unbelievable thing in the world, but had no words to describe it in minute detail. I had returned home with two bags of lychee nuts and peaches from the nearest H-Mart in preparation for a tropical fruit salad Judy desired to try out. While I had been organizing the fruit into the fresh drawer of the fridge, I couldn't help but catch onto Sam's description of the content required for his presentation. Apparently, he had wanted to share the story of Archibald Witwicky who had "gone insane" about a century ago. Once the due date slipped from my big brother's lips, I choked on my spit as the familiar dread washed over me. I was still not ready for what would come no matter how much breathing exercises or lullabies I hummed myself to sleep with every day.

Miles had caught onto my unusual muteness and had even inquired in secret - unsuccessfully - to Sam whether he had any idea if I'd gotten into some bad business considering my absence from the Witwicky household. Sam agreed to his best friend but still hoped that I was merely having a growing illness. Taking his concerns to my advantage, I had stayed at home "sick in bed" the night before Sam's project unveiling thanks to hot-packets, some of Judy's Halloween makeup, and a thermometer heated by a tea cup. My plan was foolproof once Judy confirmed that I had a slight fever that would sweat out overnight. Because the condition wasn't serious and Ron had argued that I shouldn't go out especially in Nevada's hot weather, the Witwickys left that evening to pick up some medicine, jewelry for Mojo, and index cards Sam needed in preparation for his speech. Abiding the time, I snuck out of the house once I confirmed that the family was gone in the familiar convertible. Concealing my identity using once of Sam's hoodies (and thank goodness it was clean!), I journeyed my way to a street junction two miles from home. Recognizing a badly painted sign in front of a convenience store, I ducked my way in, jingling old bells and catching a familiar face.

"Connie-sweetheart! It's been a while since I last saw those crinkling eyes of yours!" Abigail Giddons, a robust African-American lady wearing a black tank top and denim shorts, beamed a crooked grin at the sight of me as I raised my head, sending back my own grin.

"Well, you might not miss my eyes as much as I missed your goofy laugh," I kept a smile as she snorted mid-laugh from my impression of her.

The lady twirled a strand of her thick brown curls behind her ear in a way that gave her momentum to blink her eyes wide and wink at me. "It's what captures the heart of all men."

 _And she did all that in two seconds._ I swear the clerk had the power of time on her hands if she could slow-mo Pantene-style. Unfazed by Giddons' flirtatious gestures, I raked my eyes around the store, in search of another, smaller version of the clerk.

"It's always food that captures men's hearts through their stomachs, Abby. Anyways, where's Monica?"

"She's just hanging out with her father," Abigail replied in a robotic tone. Taking notice of her shifty hands that rapidly worked their way over the merchandise in the counter's display case and occasionally swept under her plump lips, I instantly advised myself to drop the issue since I was still on a race against time. Even before I tutored Monica Giddons, Abigail refused to inform me of her family matters. _I shouldn't stick my neck in her business._ I glanced at the clock behind me that hung over the front entrance to see that the Witwickys should be home in about another half hour or so, which meant I could still make it if I ran straight back. Fishing through my pockets, I dropped a couple twenties on the counter, gaining Abigail's attention and having her face my look of utter seriousness.

"I need some motor oil or diesel, some glass bottles, a couple cotton rags, and a lighter," eyes squinting in further thought, I added, "And a cutlass on a sheath. I want all these ready for pick up day after tomorrow. Have Wallace get one; Automatic with extra 'zines."

Mrs. Giddons' face contorted tremendously into that of pure disbelief and bewilderment, blurting out, "In the name of Mama's coconut milk, what in hell do you need all them for?! Have you gotten yourself in a street slash? You know I can't handle the po!"

My eyebrows dipped low in frustration and I opened and closed my mouth, overwhelmed with indecision and anxiety. Deep in my consciousness, I wished to tell Abigail everything - that I would soon encounter alien robots and become swept in their millennium war; that I shouldn't exist and be a normal highschool girl with my other best friends. _I'm crazy. This world and universe is crazy. But I gotta be kept shut._ Images of dark rooms and two-way mirrors engulfed my mind, inducing the fear and desperation I vaulted shut inside me months ago to ten-fold. Ultimately, I exhaled a choppy breath and imagined that my breath carried all the complaints, stress, insatiable desire, and, most of all, pain into the empty spaces of the air.

"I'm just preparing before shit hits the fan," I cleared my throat and rubbed by fingers together in Sam's hoodie-pockets. Under my lowered eyelashes, I could see Abigail's thoughtful expression and focused my hearing to the tapping of her manicured nails against the glass.

"Alright, since you helped Moni so much in the past," the clerk huffed and round up the money as I turned to leave.

 _"So, you carry the one over... and turn the tens' down because... we took away ten...?"_

 _"Yes, Monica! That is exactly how you do it! Great job!"_

"Yeah, those were good times," I smiled, tight-lipped as I glided down the sidewalk and retraced my steps to home.

 _ **Durarara!**_ **OST - "The Sought After Extraordinary"**

It was early in the morning the next day. Ron, who found me still "fever-stricken" yesterday, thought that since I was showing quick recovery, I needed some air. After cancelling my appointments for the week, explaining to parents that I needed a break due to exposure, I complied to Ron's request eagerly and nearly skipped to his snazzy convertible. Judy, being the overzealous mother she was, dragged me back inside and to the bathroom, giving me a lukewarm wash and force-feeding Tylenol down my throat. Due to her movements, I nearly choked on the tablets, leading to the woman throwing a Mama Bear fit. Ron saved my ass by lying to Judy to have me checked up at a nearby clinic and literally hoisted me up like a sack of potatoes and dashed towards the car. Plopping me down on the front passenger's seat, he jogged wobbly to the driver's seat, jumped in the vehicle with a thudding door, latched on his seat belt with a hasty _zip!,_ and pumped in the gas, efficiently drifting down the street. The roar of the tires muted Judy's yelling as she ran on our tail until she eventually gave up halfway and we could only see her as a speck in the distance.

Making a stop at a seafood joint, the eldest Witwicky offered to pay half of our meal and engaged me in tales of being head of the neighborhood watch. As he indulged me of chases, missing peoples, and how he became to be the head, I was genuinely surprised that his backstory was far more interesting and extensive than the man portrayed in a moving picture, who little promise as a minor character. This discovery only made me further curious about Judy's life and how she and Ron became an item, then marriage partners. _If only I could write this all on pen and paper. After all, he's real as he can be since the day he found me on that road. And Judy, too. If the time comes that I probably have to bail on them for being a nonexistent person in this universe, I need to remind myself of the people I knew and ended up living with. Actually..._

"Hey, Ron?" I interfered the man's narration of exposing a group of students for graffiti-ing some of the residential homes during his early forties. For a second, the elder Witwicky seemed annoyed for halting his story-telling mode. However, his face brightened in anticipation as I smiled slightly and looked down at my hands that dropped the forked bass and laced together, folding in nervousness.

"It's been over a year since you picked me up from the streets." Ron's eyebrows furrowed in inquisition, but he remained silent and stared at my now raised eyes. "You've been kind enough to give me more than a roof, but a whole house, and a boy that I'd be more than happy to call him an older brother." I smiled at the thought of Sam, his spazz moments, and his failed attempts to hide R-18+ magazines from my sight. "Judy has shown devotion to my health and happiness, and Mojo helped brighten my days with his shaky face." I inhaled and exhaled shakily, sensing that I was almost bringing myself to cry baby mode. "Last but not least, you, Ron, had bothered to ask me if I was alright back at that road, helped Judy treat my wounds, and entrusted me a map of Tranquility because you knew from the start I would pull off that tutoring job. I saw you spying on my and Sam's study sessions!" I remarked with a slight laugh.

Ron stayed silent.

"So, after all you guys have done for me to this point - treasuring me and letting me have fun times and witness your ups and downs... I just wanted to ask you this." My heartbeat quickened and the tears threatened to brim and overflow. "Can I call you 'Dad'?"

I swore that the noise of our section of the joint thinned down, and I sincerely hoped that only a few people saw me all teary-eyed. I gulped and shakily reached for the napkin underneath a knife. Swiping it, I nearly missed catching the utensil until Ron's own hand intercepted the fall. I glanced up to see him with a side of his lip quirked up and a knowing gleam reflecting off his eyes.

"Are you sure I ain't old enough to be called 'Grandpa'?"

...

...

…

 _Oh my G-_

"Damn you, Ron!"

I blew my nose quite loudly, silencing some customers to look over at me laughing and crying while Ron just casually ate his platter, the hint of a smile present at the corners of his lips. _Damn this asshole. How in the hell does Judy tame him, considering he's the type of guy who'd make ladies' impatient to the point of crying?_

The clock bolted to the front facade of Sam's high school showed mid-afternoon, but was difficult for me to affirm what exactly the time was. Ron and I were relaxing in the convertible, with him tapping the steering wheel and me playing finger dance on the dashboard as I tried to define my role in the Witwicky's household. _I could be adopted by the Witwickys, but that would grab too much attention from hospitals, social services, FBI, and Homeland security considering I'm not from here and a foreigner to milk in the coffee._ I instantly gave up on the option and visualized several latte art designs until the air shook with the ridiculous cacophony of what I presumed was the school's built-in alarm clock. Ron turned the ignition and pulled the joystick to neutral, all the more tapping on the wheel whilst keeping a brick of a foot on the break. By the time the second dismissal bell rang, Sam raced out the front entrance and pulled a Sonic the Hedgehog to the car. He must've been only a hundred yards and decreasing when Ron and I could clearly hear the "I got an A!" and several other whoops. _Dear, old Sammy,_ I chuckled inwardly at his _very_ open display - the boy's shirt practically flew up, exposing his tanned stomach, and one hand kept a paper in a stilled position that purposefully revealed a red mark. He looked like marathon runner who had finished first place.

"I got it! I got it! I got an A!" he echoed as he fumbled the door handles and slid into the back of the convertible, thudding the door closed. Ron clicked on the automatic locks and turned towards his son with a skeptical look.

"Alright! Alright, let me see... An A-," I snorted as his cheap-assness surfaced on his face and in his tone.

Sam blabbered that an A- was still an A, annoyance evident in his tone, but I could see, plain as day, that there were no stress lines - he knew his father was only pulling his leg. I stayed silent and watched the dynamic father-son exchange with a wide smile. Feeling thirsty from waiting under the high sun, I loosened the cap of an iced water bottle and chugged a good amount of the cold liquid. Then, I introduced Sam to bag of to-go calamari from the seafood joint. The teenage boy gladly took the food. Apparently, he nearly starved himself by not eating lunch to gain some extra speech practice time.

"Well, I guess we gotta make a trip to the dealership before we get home," Sam raised his hands in a Sun God worship pose and let out a grunted sigh of relief. Ron only chuckled and geared the joystick to Drive before gliding his convertible out the school premise.

After a few twists and turns, the older Witwicky whisked the black car into a Porsche dealership parking lot. Sam started his own mini-hyperventilation and I could only snort as I watched Sam elatedly ask vaguely, "Are you kidding me?! No! No! Dad!"

"Of course not! There's no way in hell I will buy a Porsche for you," Ron Witwicky pulled the cheap-ass card yet again.

Sam slumped back down his seat from his search of his perfect Porsche with a low growl of indignant agitation over his father's antics, gritting out, "You think that's funny," and only received a bitch-slap of a "Yeah". _I guess, I'd feel the same if my dad... nevermind._ I blanked out my thoughts when I heard the squawk of an ostrich and glimpsed the foreign animal standing in a top-open cage that reached up to its neck. For a second, I pitied the bird for having limited space to even sit down. I then perked my head towards an African man wearing a woven hat and a leafy shirt yelling over fiesta music and standing by the door of a rickety gas station that looked more like a sad excuse of a theme park. _What was his name again? Bob?_ I looked towards what seemed like a man in a clown costume holding the sign that read "_ _ Pass." I couldn't read what it said in time as Ron's car swerved into the lot. Taking a look at the rear-view mirror, I noticed a pursuing yellow Camaro; functioning without a driver. _Great..._ I only sighed and rested my head on the dashboard, ignoring the heat radiating from the coating, and prayed under Buddha, Jesus, Muhammad, and several other prophets I could name and remember through my life that supposedly lacked knowledge in either one of my parents' religions; I was a full-blown ignoramus, according to my mother. Taking things to the next level, I recited the "Imagination Land" song from South Park as a means to resurrect some of my sarcasm.

Once parked, I dispatched myself from the front passenger's side with Sam following behind and Ron making his way around the vehicle. I went my separate way around the other side of the lot while Ron and Sam meandered their way to the small edifice in the middle of the lot. I could hear Sam's complaints and went for the analogy of old virgins to describe the state and brand of each car. Ron nonchalantly assured the teen with the Witwicky motto, "No sacrifice -"

"Yeah, 'no victory.' I get it," Sam exasperatedly interrupted and took a few steps ahead in impatience. That was when the African strut over and through a diesel stall and introduced himself to the Witwickys.

" **In the Hall of the Mountain King" - Kevin MacLeod**

"Gentleman, Bobby Bolivia. Bolivia - like the country." The man shook Ron's hand enthusiastically with a business-like smile. I raised an eyebrow at Bobby's slight nervousness. _At least I got the gist of his name._ Then, I reminisced the scene of exploding glass and Bumblebee's supersonic radio. Surmising that Sam and Ron would be okay, I analyzed that I was far too close to the cars. _Sam and Ron should be far from the impact - at least enough to dodge the glass. I should go with them._ But then, I noticed the sweltering clown guy cursing loudly at Bobby Bolivia. Checking to see that Sam and Ron were far from a certain bust-up Camaro, I headed back to the convertible and grabbed my iced bottle. Blowing a whistle to gain the clown guy's attention, I gave the guy a second to think before chucking the bottle at him. He caught the plastic smoothly and mouthed a "Thank you" before watering the top of his head with the coldness. Happy to have helped the melting man, I skipped over to pet the ostrich, only to recoil from the snap of its beak. Thinning a pout, I turned back to regroup with the Witwickys and carefully scanned the cars I walked past by. I made it in time to Sam discovering Bumblebee. The car may have been beat up, but it honestly looked classy in yellow and black. _No wonder so many girls adored him._

Noticing Sam's puzzled look, I only assumed he saw the Autobot symbol on the steering wheel. Then, Bobby slapped the hood of the faded car and verbally nudged Sam to buy it. However, his face contorted in confusion and the dealer bellowed to the clown guy, demanding where the Camaro came from, but only received a spluttering response due the iced water the poor guy was ingesting. While Bobby reverted his yelling to a Hispanic mechanic across the street, I wandered over to Sam and inspected the car closely. Out of impulsiveness, I kicked the front bumper.

"What are you doing, Nyl?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Checking that Bobby-boy isn't scamming us," I dismissively replied.

My further examination of Bumblebee received good feedback. Rather, my ulterior operation got pretty funny results. I ran a finger along the crevices of the hood, catching dust and dirt. Bumblebee, as I expected, shuddered in response. Stifling a grin on my face from the anticipation and humor of the situation, I ran over to the back of the vehicle, bent down, and fished out a napkin I had gotten from the restaurant and stored for Sam's usage. Attentively, I stuffed the paper into the tailpipe and swirled the flimsy thing. This incited a recorded scream from the radio, spooking the hell out of Sam. I bit my lip from laughing out loud and pulled out the blackened napkin. _Oh god, this better not be robot poop._ Blocking images of ass-cracks, I stood up and walked over the tires. Pulling a penny from my capris-pocket, I held the currency against the sunken rubber. This made the yellow Camaro rock on its wheels and shocks. Sam, who must've been worried that I was doing something weird to his future car, leaned against the front seat and pivoted his head to my hunched form.

"Nyla! What are you doing?" he hissed heatedly.

"I'm checking the pressure on these tires using the penny method," I innocently countered.

"Well, stop for now! I don't know why, but whatever you're doing - it's making the car act weird!"

"Alright, bro. I'll stop," I huffed, standing up, "Besides, I'm breaking my back doing this checkup." I dusted myself, careful not to smear my pants with the napkin.

Bobby returned from a heated discussion from the clown guy - probably interrogating the poor dude about his duty-shirking and sudden possession of water. He quickly morphed his face into an overly sweet smile, directing it to me, which would've creeped me out had Ron not arrived to converse with the dealer.

"I'm sorry for the wait. My advertiser was taking an unscheduled break, but I let him off the hook," Bobby laughed nervously, "And I see that your kid still wants that Camaro there."

"You did say that cars choose their drivers," Sam remarked.

Bobby gave the teen a hard look and walked over to nudge the boy out of the car. He then returned to Ron's side and ushered the middle-aged man towards the middle of the lot. Sam and I followed closely behind. A low whirl brought my attention back to the Camaro, which immediately silenced at my stolen attention. Ignoring the Autobot and future guardian, I brought my focus back to Bobby and Ron.

"Tell you what; I'll make the Camaro five thousand."

Ron shook his head, "No, I'm not spending more than four thousand." This earned a glared from Sam, who muttered choice words regarding balding and bankruptcy.

"Oh," Bobby's eyes glazed over in thought, "Then, I can introduce you to some nice options that can satisfy your four-grand price range."

Bobby and Ron didn't even pull three steps by the time a warbling radio pulled my and Sam's attention. Then the next thing we knew, a screech brought all of us straining our ear closed and hunching down as sever car windows and and windshields exploded in a crystalline shower. Due to my attire, I only noticed stings along my forearms and calves, which were exposed. Once the last of the glass fell to the earth, I used the napkin to swipe away an excess shards attached to my hair so as to not cut my palm. Looking up, I found a lot entirely covered in glass shards. The afternoon sun reflected off various random shards, emitting a spooky glow on the asphalt. I glimpsed Ron and Sam cautiously look up and handed them some napkins as well. Bobby, who was whimpering at the sight of his sell-off, whirled around to us, sending stray glass on his hat flying.

"F-f-four thousand!" he sobbed with his hand held up and fingers positioned to show "four," but only showed his index, middle, and ring finger up.

Before we left home with Bumblebee, I went off to a nearby convenience store to pick up a hard-bristled duster to help all of us clean up and remove any shards. Ron, Sam, and I agreed we wouldn't tell Judy about the incident, since she would probably hunt down Bobby and kick his ass to the gutter. While Ron drove his convertible, Sam took Bumblebee, although a bit hesitantly considering he even supposed that the car was haunted. _I wonder... Why do people even keep haunted cars if they knew they're most likely dangerous from the start? I guess that shows you that Sam would die first in a horror movie._ I look towards Sam who had turned the ignition of the Camaro while Ron and I headed toward the parked convertible. The teen started eating the calamari I gave him and occasionally touched the steering wheel with his food-encrusted fingers. I cringed, imagining a disgusted Autobot forcing Windex down his insides. _I feel so bad for Bumblebee._

"If only I could buy you a car as well, Nyla," Ron mumbled as he strapped in, "But I know, that it would jeopardizing your in-hiding."

I glanced at Ron and couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness, "It's fine enough to ride in the same car as you guys... Dad."

I laughed heavily as Ron blushed at my bold move, making large cherries on his perky cheekbones, swerving rather jerkily out of the lot and revving the engine for the trip back home, where Judy had been waiting with a Chihuahua caked with makeup.


	6. confirm(5)

**Intro Music: "Something About Us" - Daft Punk**

The day after the incident at Uncle Bobby's dealership, Sam returned home with the yellow Camaro grease- and grime-free from the local car wash. He especially went as far as vacuuming the interior using the 75-cent-per-minute stalls at a nearby gas station. So, when I met up with him at the Witwicky's garage, I displayed open surprise at the spot-less surface of the Autobot's alt mode, internally worried about Bumblebee's first encounter with the car wash's huge automatic scrubs and machine-gun-like showers. However, I could only praise Sam as he beamed at his efforts to make his new car presentable. _What possessed him to take Bumblebee to the 'wash? He never did so in the movie._

"Wait, how did you even afford this all? You even got some of the axles greased and the tires pumped!" I incredulously spluttered, calculating how much of his allowance he wasted in one-go.

Sam poked my forehead with a chuckle, earning a deep scowl from me as I rubbed the area, and answered, "I used the New Year's money you gave me and a quarter of my own monthly allowance."

I gaped at this discovery, "But, Sam, I thought you wanted to save that for California."

Two months ago, Sam had asked me what I wanted to do for my future. It had brutally struck a nerve in me and I could only muster out the I-don't-know-but-we'll-see bullshit. I was already aware that it was impossible for me to find a suitable occupation or job without having a work permit or a high school graduate degree. Sam, who was still oblivious about my nonexistent background and my amnesiac-story, then proposed that he could do something about me at California. Since he was a rising senior, he had already conducted a college search and set his sights on a few four-year colleges in CA. This was one of his reasons why he needed a car badly. But the idea that I could go to the Golden State peaked my interest, and sparked a note of anxiety in my gut. I had pried on, but he was stubborn enough to evade the topic using simple "No"'s and "You'll see later"'s.

Once I mentioned Sam's prospective goal, he then eyed me, eyebrows slanted slightly downward, as if he was internally squeamish. Then he strolled over and sat on the hood of the Camaro. Had I been not highly anticipated with the growing suspense of Sam's upcoming explanation, I would have noticed the Autobot-on-fours soft growl as the older teen's butt made contact with the glossy finish. Sam cleared his throat and then patted the hood, glancing at me; sending me a silent "sit here." I followed the telepathic-like message and sat on the space where Sam had suggested.

"Sam?" I urged.

"Look, Nyl. You might have only come into my life-our lives only-what?; a year ago?" Sam looked down at his worn sneakers and rubbed the heels against the concrete of the garage floor, as if to put all the pressure of his next words in the scraping noise.

"Yeah?" I tried to sound polite, but drilled the ittiest bit of impatience in my drawl.

Sam sighed and rubbed his face with both hands, wiping off a layer of sweat from the skin, and looked at me intensely, "I've decided to look for college here in Tranquility."

My anticipation surged enough brain energy for me to immediately process the last sentence. Instantly, I arched my back slightly and leaned forward. My fingers curled feebly on the round surface of the hood, and I swore I felt the car shake. _Oops. Sorry, but..._

"What?! What possessed you to do that? Sam!" I rapidly insisted as I wandered aimlessly away from the Camaro, searching for another place to sit on and think in the garage. My back went limp, but my shoulder stiffened back as I grabbed at both sides of my head, clearly in disbelief.

"Look! It doesn't have to be Tranquility. There's always Carson City, Reno, M-"

"That's not the point Sam!" I whipped around to face an already approaching Sam, who instinctively halted in his spot and raised his hands to make a small "I surrender" gesture. "You had aspirations! You even considered Berkley or UCLA! I've seen you! You _adored_ English and history. You wanted to take the educational route, get a bachelor's and master's, and eventually become a professor-or a teacher- whatever!" I stumbled further as I fumed, replaying all those times Sam and I discussed about his junior year plan, his constipated look the day before the PSATs, and so many more obstacles he'd overcome to bring himself a step closer to a future he was confident to embrace as a small town boy. By now, my hands flailed and the areas I surmised as my cheeks heated steadily at a fast pace.

"Nyla! It doesn't have to be a big-shot place like those. I can always find the experience that equals to that! Who knows? Probably the majority of students there are a bunch of kiss-asses; I can always out-league them! I just wanted to stay here for _you._ "

"Me?! What in the hell did you eat for breakfast, Samuel Witwicky?" I exhaled exasperatedly, "You must've had too much maple syrup that you're sugaring me! This is your future, Sam!" I pointedly glared at him.

"What about you? I don't see you worrying over transcripts, resumes, interviews, and shit like that! What about your future, Nyla? You can't just chain yourself to a couch then walk all around Nevada asking to tutor some stranger's kid for ten bucks an hour! That's not a life, Nyla!"

"I have shown that I am more than capable of finding my way around in Tranquility, Sam. I've seen, watched, and tasted different lifestyles of many people - good and bad - and accepted it all. Yes, it was for the money, but-"

"That's the point, all you ever do is just make the most of your time dressed up as a walking ATM! Haven't you considered hobbies or passions? You're frozen, Nyl! You have to do somethin-"

I DON'T HAVE A GOD-DAMNED FUTURE!

Sam slightly staggered back from his assaulting march towards me once I screamed the very words I regretted ever discovering and had buried deep in the layers of my conscience so many months ago. I stood my ground, fists clenched with knuckles white, shaking. My bangs shrouded a majority of my face, which was angled depressingly downward, allowing tendrils of my ponytail to snake and latch onto the nape of my sweaty neck. Seconds and then a minute passed with the garage filled with impregnable silence. My heart beat so fast, I could literally hear the booms through my eardrums. My diaphragm ached as my stomach inflated and deflated erratically. My eyelids grew heavy and I suddenly felt drained to evaluate the doomed feeling slithering and lashing out occasionally at the center of my body. I exhaled loudly to cut the silence and fixed my ponytail and bangs with quivering hands. Then, I cupped my nose and massaged the bridge connecting to my forehead and the arches of my eyes.

"Sorry, Sam."

"No!" Sam took a step closer to me, albeit hesitantly, "I shouldn't have said all that. It was far too careless and unfair."

"But, all of it was right, bro," I bitterly smiled and fought the suddenly dryness of my eyes that would initiate the waterworks. My right hand answered to my desperation to hide my vulnerability and covered the length of my eyes as much as possible. I started taking breaths alternating from my nose and mouth due to the forming snot.

I heard the familiar zip of a key being buried into a lock. Sam opened the driver's door, leaned over, and clicked the unlock button, creating the harmonious *BLUM* of the locks popping from every other door. There was shifting of feet and the next thing I knew, I was being guided with one of Sam's hands resting gently on my shoulder.

"Let's stop, Nyl, okay. I started it, so I owe you your first ride," he proposed as he slipped me into the front passenger's seat with a gentle, but shaky smile; an idea and expression I couldn't resist to laugh right back at with a watery look.

"Yeah, you're right; so you better make it a good trip," I piped in as Sam turned the ignition and revved the engine.

I heard the smallest clang of metal against metal, then a whirl. Sam and I changed a look of confusion before we began laughing at the song that blared.

" **Lonely No More" - Rob Thomas**

 _ **I don't want to be angry no more**_

 _ **You know I could never stand for this**_

 _ **So when you tell me that you love me now for sure**_

 _ **I don't want to be lonely anymore**_

 _Thanks, Bumblebee._ I honestly totally forgot the Autobot's presence, and grudgingly admonished myself for lashing out.

That was when Judy opened the entrance to the garage from the house.

"Are you guys alright? I heard screaming and thought that something happened."

I scrolled down my window and leaned my head out, yelling over the music, "It's okay, Judy! We got over it!"

After morphing her face to a puzzled look, she quirked her lips up, saying, "Okay!" and squinting her eyes at my older brother, "Sam where do you think you're going?"

"I'm taking Nyla on a trip to a party at the lake. Miles is joining, too!" Sam leaned his own head out, then began tugging the joystick to Reverse, backing the car out of the garage.

"What? A party!" Ron joined with Judy at the threshold from somewhere in the house "You better keep it PG-15 there Sammy! Bring Nyla back by 10!"

"Alright, Dad!" Sam huffed with the hint of a snicker while I protested about the level of my maturity at the eldest Witwicky. Unfortunately, my remarks were drowned out by the music.

Then, I finally blurted it out, "Bye, Mom! Bye, Dad!" Judy looked like her eyes would pop right out, and Ron just rested his hands on his hips, looking smug.

"'Mom'? "Dad'?" Sam inquired with a raised eyebrow once he prepped the car at the sight of the road. The music was still at near max-volume, but we could clearly hear Judy's gleeful whoops of "She called me 'Mom'! Yahoo! Hallelujah!" _I feel so bad for R- I mean, Dad._

I blushed automatically, turned to the window in a flash, and gritted out, "I'll give you them 50-50," earning a snort of laughter from my big bro.

" **In His Mind" -** _ **Soul Eater**_ **OST**

Miles greeted us with a bro fist and a mock-bow to me, inquiring, "And where is your umbrella, fair lady?"

"Taking a rain check in my closet," I snorted at his mannerisms as he entered the Camaro through the back.

Miles grinned, "So you finally decided to get a tan. I'm not surprised, though."

"And why is that?" I peeked through the rear-view mirror and saw Miles stifling laughter.

"I knew that there would come the day when you finally decided to match your butt's sunburn."

My eyebrows knitted together in frustrated confusion as I processed the last part. "What? Okay we went over this! It's not a sunburn! I just got fried on the sidewalk because I was stupid enough to wear black in 90 and over weather!"

Sam and Miles snickered. I was always self conscious about my butt, not only because it was just a _bit_ more tanned than the rest of my body after the incident, but also because it was insanely small - like near flat with just a layer of plumpness that was as thick as a chicken nugget. _Thanks Dad for your gluteals._ Instantly, my mind flashed to a chestnut-hair man's laughing face. _Okay, stop that._ Just as immediate, I repeated the multiplication table and tuned in a bit of the boys' conversation. Desperate to find more distractions, I stared out the window and watched the yellow grasses of Nevada's landscape zoom past. My eyes would meander over to follow trees and several houses, naming the colors of the paint and roofs.

"Damn, I gotta' say! I'm digging the stripes and the 'bee-och' there. A bit crappy with a need for a few tunes, but this looks like something you'd get for a dozen grand!" Miles complimented and fiddled with one of the door locks.

"Even better; got this baby for a third of that."

"You're shitting me," Miles accused in a breath, "Witwicky, what did you do?"

"I inherited a car fund from my legacy; that's what," Sam smugly replied while Miles snooped his hands into a pocket on the back of my seat. I nearly choked on spit when the car rocked on its wheels mid-drive, causing Miles to toss himself back to his seat.

"Shit, Sam! Watch the road!" Miles buckled in, most likely fearing that Sam's license was a total whack.

"I am!" Sam gritted out and squirmed in his seat. _Yeah, you wouldn't want to tell your BFF that you bought a 'haunted' car 'cuz it seems safe for the time being._

And that's when an entire family is slaughtered by a vengeful ghost. Man, I'm starting to miss _Paranormal Activity_ and _The Conjuring_.

"So, Poppins. Care to share anything exciting for today," Miles raised his eyebrows expectantly at me through the mirror. Sam cleared his throat and glanced at me. _I swear, is this a pity party?_

"Not much. Just that I read an interesting story about how people got their revenge."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, it starts out introducing a married couple. The wife noticed that her husband had been leaving at night a lot frequently and longer. So, she assumed that he was cheating on her."

I swear, I saw Sam turn his head to share a look with Miles that screamed, "Oh, it's one of those stories."

"One day, the wife looked around her husband's stuff and found a pack of condoms, one already opened. Since her husband had left the house, she took her time getting back at him by spreading spicy hot habanero sauce in the condoms."

"What?!"

"A few days later, the wife received a phone call from her friend who complained about how her region was _aching._ And the husband came home after a 'business trip' extremely uncomfortable around his own private areas."

"H-hang on! This is real?! Something like this made the news?" Miles insisted whilst freezing a pained face, probably imagining his own experience having a hot-sauce-covered-penis.

"Dunno," I mimicked Gortys from _Tales from the Borderlands_. "I saw it on the Internet, but had to check on what Sam did to B- I mean - the Camaro , so I didn't check the date for how recent or big it was."

"Jesus Christ," Sam exhaled. A growl from the engine brought my attention away from my window and I looked over the windshield to see a large lake in the middle of a vast green space across a line of houses sprinkled with yellow-green grasses and trees bundled up to threes and fours. _So that's the lake,_ I thought as I could make out several cars and people loitering about.

"Well, as they say, 'revenge is best served sweet and cold like-" I turned back to Sam and Miles.

"Ice cream!" Miles joined in the quote, "And speaking of ice cream, you think there will be at least some shaved ice at the lake party?" He must have found out we're close.

"Well, it's hot and I'm pretty sure a whole bunch of people would want something cold," Sam said as he turned the wheel so the car would swerve smoothly down a hill.

A look crossed Miles's face and he asked - no stated thinly - "We're invited to a party."

"Yeah," Sam said curtly.

"You're not sure," I rebuked.

"No, of course we are! I mean, it's at a lake, you know?; public property and all."

Miles and I could only telepathically chide at the junior, who finally parked the vehicle along the perimeter. But, oh well, we have to celebrate about him getting his first car one way or another.

"Oh my god. Oh my god," Sam grunted lowly.

"What?" Miles inquired while I analyzed my older bro's face contort as he seemed to undergo an internal battle.

"It's Trent's car, as in Mikaela's ex. Dude, Mikaela's here." I could hear Miles breathe exasperatedly and watched amusedly at Sam tensing his fingers on the steering wheel.

As Sam killed the engine, twisted the stick to park, and pulled the emergency break, the sounds of chattering teenagers rose in volume. There was no wind, no rustling leaves, but the occasional sound of breaking water as a few teens threw and skipped a couple rocks at the shallow shoreline. Watching people about Sam's age go by, I suddenly felt my anxiety, like a full glass of water, vibrate at a seemingly ominous pace. The teenagers looked so much taller and more mature in comparison to me, and that kind of terrified me. For a minute, I was back to being a freshman stranded in the middle of a hallway with sophomores, juniors, and seniors running about. Other freshmen would be congregating at the lockers while I stood alone and so new to the environment, taking in the atmosphere and forcing myself to respond.

"Sam?" I called to the older teen before he could completely depart from the car.

Turning to me, he asked, "Yeah?"

"You sure it was a good idea for me to be here," I sheepishly stated, raising my voice a pitch to acknowledge how questionable I was as my eyes flicked from one group to another.

Sam scrunched his eyebrows slightly, but ultimately smirked and patted my head. "Just keep your bangs off your forehead and be yourself."

Like a rolling wave, those words were enough to sway away my negative thoughts. My heart warmed and I simply wanted to move. So, I did, a bit cautiously, though; I opened the door and headed out to join with Miles.

"Alright, just don't do anything weird. What do you think? I'm cool, right?; I'm cool," Sam trailed off as we, the trio, approached closer to the gathered teens. Miles and I could only snicker and roll our eyes. I heard some random guy acknowledge our arrival somewhere near a blue jeep and a bulky looking blonde dude wearing a reversed cap whipped his head around to face us after passing a football to one of his clique. Judging from his tensing shoulders, we were unwelcome, but he then smirked smugly when his eyes rested on me. _Oh, he's one of those guys._ Then, a pretty girl wearing a peach tank top with a low-cut-V neckline, a blue and peach-pink scarf, and a light-blue pencil skirt approached the blonde dude, calling him. _And that's Mikaela Banes with all her Megan-Fox-like glory._ Said guy turned around to accept her hug from behind, allowing her to rest her dark-silk clad head on his shoulder blades, liquidy blue eyes staring off from his shoulder in slight wonder at us and a small smile graced on her lips. Sam only cleared his throat and angled his head down. Miles, on the other hand, patted my shoulder to let me catch his Cheshire-cat-like grin and jogged toward the nearest tree to climb it. Sam, who saw Miles run ahead, groaned in frustration as his best friend neglected the one job that would've saved him from being branded a weirdo. I only chuckled as Miles imitated monkey calls to entertain me. My brother would just have to wing it.

"Hey bro! Nice car!" Miles caught the blonde guy's attention as he hooked his legs on the first branch. Narrowing his eyes a fraction, the blonde guy shrugged off from Mikaela, rounded his jeep and strolled to a Samuel Witwicky with a tight jaw, nodding his head as if accepting the fact that the universe hated him.

"So what are you guys doing here?" Blondie asked with a tight smile. _No hello, huh?_

Sam brought his head and leveled his eyes at Blondie, replying with the hint of grit, "Just climbing trees, as you can see. We're here to climb this tree," he quirked his head to Miles, who proceeded but failed to do a pull-up.

"I see; Looks fun," Blondie ignored Miles's wave to him, "I remember you. You tried out for the football team."

"Hah! Me! N-no, that wasn't a tryout. It was for a research book I was writing," Sam indignantly informed, his lie flat out in the open.

"Uh-huh," Blondie didn't hold back his amusement and plain disbelief as he smirked, making me dislike him all the more, "And what's it about? Sucking at sports?"

Sam laughed bitterly but bluntly said, "No, it's about the link between brain damage and football."

At this, Blondie's smirk mirrored to a deepening scowl. Miles exhaled an "Oh, _damn_." I just cheered inwardly for Sassy Sam, fighting my rising laughter as my lungs shook.

"No, i-it's a good book. Your friends will _love_ it," Sam continued and pointed to a random pack of guy for emphasis, "It's got mazes, you know? Little coloring areas, sections, pop-up pictures - all that stuff."

Sam openly smirked at the fuming Blondie. I bit my hand to cover an unladylike snort. Mikaela just stared at the exchange, and for a moment, I wondered if she was finding Sam in a new light. Was he more attractive in a gutsy and blunt way by insulting another guy? Or was she fascinated by his rebellious stand against a bully, a contrast to the spazz-monster he was?

I saw Blondie start to charge at Sam. Instinctively, I swept myself around my older bro and stopped the assault with a right palm to Blondie's wide chest. Dropping it mid-way to my hip, I held out my right hand.

"Sorry to interrupt, but I'd really want to have some fun, since this is actually the first party my bro let me go to with him."

Blondie, startled by my quick movement, took a few seconds to process my diplomatic statement and finally shook my hand.

"You're that wannabe Mary Poppins chick," he slurred at the end, unused to the civil body language.

"I guess you can say that, but I was never into corsets or briefcases. Just umbrellas," I flashed a smile that poked toward the feral end.

Letting go of him, I turned to stand horizontally between the two boys and rest both hands on either of their shoulders.

"Now let me get this straight: My big bro doesn't like you," tilted my head to Blondie, keeping my smile, "And you don't like my big bro," I angled now to Sam, who glanced at the female Banes who watched my observation with curiosity. I heard shuffling and assumed Miles had climbed down from the tree when I could see his longish hair at the corner of my vision.

"This relationship is not gonna' help us enjoy a lovely lake party, you know, boys?" Blondie squinted his eyes in suspicious at my observation. "Since things already got rocky, what's the point of staying here, right Sam?"

"W-well-" Sam stuttered.

"Since you can't even _look_ at this fella's face, I'm guessing that you don't really like the idea being here any longer, right? I mean, there's a whole bunch of places we can go to celebrate about your car" I smiled sweetly, hiding my irritation at the possibility that Sam planned to keep letting Blondie humiliate him, all for a girl's attention.

"Sam, Miles; let's bail," I dully commanded.

Miles, sensing my layered tension, nudged Sam to the Camaro. I went to follow after them, but was stopped by Blondie grabbing hold of my forearm.

"Hey. As much as I don't like Willwilly and Lancaster," Blondie confessed but maintained a steady smirk, "I don't mind partying with you."

 _Excuse me?_ I watched Blondie wag his eyebrows vertically. I honestly had the dark idea that he might as well had experienced brain damage from all that football.

Mikaela stood in and started to roughly push at Blondie's shoulder, scolding, "Trent, that's enough!" I stiffened when I finally heard Blondie's name.

 _... Trent? The same guy who...?_

Fury flashed from the back of mind and spread like wildfire, engulfing my conscious and thoughts. Before I could stop myself, my right arm slid back and swung forward, sending a white-knuckled punch at the same guy who nearly made Sam commit suicide; the same guy who nearly destroyed my, Sam's, and Miles's friendship; the same guy who didn't hesitate to turn Sam's life upside down, and went as far as coaxing me to let him have his way with me as if I was nothing more than a piece of candy.

I looked down at a Trent with a gushing nose and split-lip, growling out:

" _Burn in hell, you son-of-a-bitch."_

I turned back to Sam, who had come back - probably to rescue me from Trent - and hooked my arm around his own, dragging us back to the Camaro, where Miles waited at the backseats.

"Hang on, Nyl! Is your hand okay?" Sam tried to turn me around, but I relented and dragged him along with me with more raw power, squeezing his bicep to physically tell him to _just go_.

"We'll check later. Right now, I'd want to be anywhere but _here_ ," I responded.

Sam's pull slagged until I finally let go of him so we'd go our separate ways and enter the Camaro. Massaging my reddened fist and ignoring Mile's bouts of concern, I reached for my door until I heard a shout of "Hey!"

Glancing up, I felt a wash of relief to see Mikaela nearing us and escaping a group of people gathering where Trent was punched by me. I could have smiled at her, but my mood had plummeted drastically when I finally remembered the side character and high school bully-for-a-jock, Trent. When I first heard of Trent prior to the main story-line and during my stay at the Witwickys', I wasn't prepared for how much the jock negatively affected Sam in comparison to the every-day-bully _Transformers_ had portrayed. It was when Sam confirmed to me that he considered cutting himself that I finally realized how dire and realistic everything was now. Back then, I had been happy to meet the Witwickys and Miles, and had planned to stay in Tranquility until I had to cut ties with them and work as a secluded school teacher somewhere in the mountains down at the next state. I was still so _immature_ and _insecure_ that I had kept averting myself from seeing them all as more than fictional characters without knowing. Then, the look on Sam's face when he finally let out a turret of emotions about _his own_ insecurities brought me to an earth-shattering awakening. I vowed myself that day that I'd never be so _petty_ again.

"What do you want, Banes?" I lowly growled, facing away from the dark-haired beauty.

"Let's just go!" Miles whined, earning a "Shut up!" from Sam.

"Look; I'm sorry about Trent. I know he's a stuck-up scumbag and he's an idiot for even _thinking_ of keeping you here like a display case," Megan Fox's voice rang out, and I shook my head to remind myself that she's _Mikaela Banes_ , not an actress from my reality.

Lifting my head up to see her pained blue eyes, I pretended to pry, "And what about him?"

She sighed, "He's... He's supposed to take me home?"

I felt sick for acting bitchy but continued, "Are you suggesting we take _you_ home?"

Mikaela wiped the sweat off her brow and combed her hand through her hair, blinking repeatedly as if searching for her next words. _I'm not that cheap,_ I wanted to say.

"Yeah," the older girl breathed and looked back to see the group around Trent breaking apart, some guys and girls staring at the Camaro with ominous looks. _And the wolves shall be set free._

"Sure," I stopped massaging my knuckles and left my seat, ushering a surprised Mikaela in.

"What?" Miles and Sam exclaimed, but Miles extended with a protesting, "Aw, hell to the no!"

"Cut it out Miles! I'll sit with you," I attempted to calm him down as I opened the passenger door opposite to his side.

"Yeah, chill out, man! Or do you want to walk home?" Sam suggested, but I could see the eagerness in his eyes that his crush was coming with us. I was glad that Sam wasn't forcing Miles off his stead like the Sam in the movie did. _At least he isn't that much of an asshole._

I watched Miles comply to his best friend with a droned, "No." My face may not show it, but I was just as proud for Miles's wavering aggression towards Mikaela. He dropped the "bros before hoes" shtick since I popped in the two boy's lives. Truthfully, I was and am happy to be considered a friend for older boys like them. Roger was only one of the few seniors in my old life that saw me as someone he'd tolerate, and eventually become friends with. Older peoples with the exception of my elder family members like Mom and Dad would always come and go saying hi's and byes to me like I was nothing more than a task to fulfill. Hell, my senior buddy always ditched me at the library 'til I told the counselor and _told_ _him off_.

Mikaela hopped in, using the momentum of closing the door to say, "Thanks." _She really is that embarrassed, huh?_ The older girl grabbed the seat-belt and latched it in the buckle. Noticing the car was still, she looked at Sam expectantly, who spluttered oh's and um's before revving the engine. Miles and I whispered phrases from old nursery rhymes and Christmas medleys relevant to marriage and love at the back, erecting a huge blush from Sam. Mikaela must have blushed too but her voluminous hair covered the evidence.

"Neat car," the girl offered awkwardly, receiving a weak thanks from Sam and a round of snickers from us, the third wheeling duo.

"Stop staring at her coconuts, bro," Miles breathed, earning a glare from the Witwicky through the rear-view mirror. Mikaela shuffled on her seat, but stopped when I laid a hand on her shoulder from where I sat.

"No, Banes. Do not be ashamed of your God-blessed jugs. Miles is just jealous that Sam might get a taste of yours since his mom stopped spoiling him."

Miles gave an outcry of "Nyla, you bitch!" and reached for me, fingers curled like claws. However, I was a step further and poked his side, causing Lancaster to recoil and hit the door.

"Miles," _haha,_ "if you dare," _twehehe_ , "damage this car," _heee_ , "expect a lifetime without kids."

"S-s-shut up, you..." Miles's eyes slid back and forth to think up a clever come-back until a malicious smile laced his lips, "Whitehead."

I broke out laughing. Mikaela then turned to me with a bewildered expression.

"What in hell's a 'whitehead'?"

 _Oh, sweet lord bring me the Urban Dictionary, 'cause my bladder probably can't take any more._

Cooling my upbeat diaphragm and regaining my breath, I began narrating, "There once was a boy named Sam-"

"Don't you dare! Stop it!" Sam begged while Miles cheered me on.

"-wicky. He saw a porno and sacrificed his innocence for knowledge of Rate-18 life. Seeing a large, _black_ dick, he was terrified for his future and attempted to _bleach his own child_."

Mikaela let out a howl of laughter and collapsed herself against the dashboard. Poor Sam was crimson and cried out, "It never happened!" Miles harassed his best friend, playing the "did-not-did-too" verbal game.

That was when the radio warbled, knob turning on its own, and:

" **Because of You" - Ne-Yo**

 _ **Ooo, want to but I can't help it**_

 _ **I love the way it feels**_

 _ **This got me stuck between my fantasy and what is real**_

 _ **I need it when I want it**_

 _ **I want it when I don't**_

 _ **Tell myself I'll stop everyday**_

 _ **Knowing that I won't**_

My. Fucking. God. Bumblebee ain't black and yellow. He's pure rhinestones and _gold._

Looking out my window, I realized that we were travelling farther away from the Witwickys and into more country. Swerving my attention to the front, Sam and Mikaela were in a laughing fest, with Sam doing his hardest to hold back and repeating "I love this car" over and over. _What a responsible driver_ , I remarked mentally. Nudging at Miles, who was fail-singing along to the radio, I whispered into his ear, "Lovebirds; 12 'o clock."

It was probably because he was following some code of being the best bro, but Miles smiled at me and kicked at Sam's seat.

"Hey!" Sam shouted and searched for Mile's face through the rear-view mirror.

"I gotta' bail, man. My stomach's acting funny," Miles held onto his tummy and groaned.

With quick thinking, I played along by patting his shoulder and urging him to look at me. Turning to Sam and Mikaela, I lied, "He looks like he's about to blow, guys."

"Shit," Sam cussed and parked the car off the side of the road.

"There's a general's store down that way where my place is. I'll just hurl on some bushes and pick up some meds."

"No, man. Let me drop you off."

"It's cool, man. I know the guy running the place. I'll catch a ride with him," Mile's waved off and tried to unlock his door, clarifying his strong intent to exit the car.

"Stop it, Miles. Let me just -" Sam started.

"I'll go with him." I deadpanned, earning a look from Miles, "Mr. Doyle's the guy, right?"

"...Yeah," Miles confirmed.

"He can drop me off, too. Sam, take care of Mikaela while _I_ take care of _Miles_. This will take too long and I don't think Mom and Dad would be happy that we'd get home late." I bit my tongue despite knowing that I didn't have time to explain to Mikaela or Miles about my newly developed parent-daughter relationship with the Witwickys.

Sam turned from his seat and stared at me for a good twenty seconds. Sighing in defeat, he unlocked the car doors. Breathing out "thank you," I exited the car and rounded to Miles' side, the boy already opening the car. He was a good actor; he swayed and attached himself to me like a leech, arms splayed around my small back. Scrunching my face in frustration, I cursed Miles's love for ice cream and had him lean against me.

"Be careful!" Mikaela called out. I gave a thumbs up with a free hand with my back turned to the Camaro as I and Miles started to walk the opposite direction and down a line of houses.

Miles was laugh-wheezing as I cussed at him for purposely leaning onto me. We heard the growl of an engine and the radio warble out a station's goodbye. While Sam stuttered a lame explanation for the 'weird radio', I thought, _See you later, stripes._

The Camaro was gone; Miles and I walked the rest of the way to our homes. I waited on box for Sam to return, and he did, promising to repay me back somehow. It was a little past 10:30 when the both of us crossed the threshold of the Witwicky household and were frowned down by the older Witwickys like a lone squadron being gunned down by an imperial army. The lecture concluded to the both of us promising to take care of some of Ron's chores, much to his smug happiness.

Judy then interrogated me about any encounters with boys at the lake party and I went with a story about me falling asleep for most of the party in the car. When she asked me why we were late, I told her that Miles was being chased down by a group of guys and got lost in the countryside. Putting two and two together in the conjured story, she let Sam off the hook of another lecture concerning me and rape.

 _Hoooo-boy,_ I mentally sighed with eyebrows lifted as I headed to the couch after having a microwave meal. I heard the last door upstairs close. The Witwickys should be stuck in bed by a few minutes. Almost soundlessly, I strolled to the corner of the living room where a backpack laid against the wall next to an old vase. Sam had handed down the pack for me when I lost use for it. Zipping the bag open, I held my breath so as to not breath in the scent of liquid ethanol and peered down to six small, cork-less bottles. Biting a side of my lip, I took out a a bundle of cloth, unfolding the automatic handgun that should fit my short and slightly chubby fingers. My shoulders wobbled and I nearly dropped the gun, but I held on to inspect more of it. My fingers brushed against the cool, smooth surface, pads itching from contact. Countless scenes from movies with brain splatters, gunshot wounds, and children staring at me with wide eyes and mid-scream mouths crossed my mind. Then, I saw myself shooting Ron Witwicky in the mouth. Feeling my throat constricting, I grabbed one of the bottles and explosively vomited the contents of my stomach into the transparent container. When I finally finished, leaving a heavy taste of bile, I wiped my mouth clean and left to dump the puke into the toilet with a sore mouth and burning throat. I washed my hands, rinsed my mouth twice with mouthwash, and scrubbed the bottle clean after repeatedly rinsing it with hot water and hand soap. I didn't bother smelling the inside; my OCD for cleanliness never extended as far as checking bottles for rankness.

Dropping the cleaned bottle into my pack, I took one last long look at the gun and finally covered it with the clothing, folding it until I could fold no more. While stuffing the bundle inside the pack, my heart nearly stopped when I heard the banging of a door opening. Panicking, I zipped the bag closed and flipped myself onto the couch in a sitting position in time to see Sam running into the living room.

 _Wait... this is..._

"Sam?" I squinted my eyes at him, hoping my expression was a mask of sleepy confusion.

"Not now, Nyl!" Sam looked over the window while I turned in time to hear the drone of a car engine and cracking gravel. "Our car's getting stolen. I'm going after the fucker; you call the cops."

I nodded in understanding and watched as he left to the back door. I looked out the window to see him taking his bike and pedaling hard after the escaping Camaro. _Poor Sam._

Rising from the couch, I headed to the phone and dialed 9-1-1. Informing them that our car was 'stolen' and a certain big brother left to run after it, I dropped the call just as Ron and Judy descended from the stairs, simultaneously asking for a heads-up. Ron complained about Sam leaving bike tracks on the yard while Judy called for Mojo. I sighed externally and internally, remembering Sam's discovery of Bumblebee and his time at the police station. _This was going to be a looong night._

 **Outro:** _"_ **Blurred Lines" Robin Thicke ft. Pharrell and TI**


	7. Notice 1

**09/26/16**

Hello, readers. This is ParaDox Cat typing.

As you know, I binge-updated the other day; know that I did this because I expect myself to take a break because I'm still enduring a new year in my high school life. It's been two weeks since the school year started, and I'm already being over-pressured. Thus, I want you to sit back from the story for the next few weeks or so. I'm just... tired, okay? I'll keep myself awake to add onto my story line and create/revise drafts. I'm already working on the confirm(6) and confirm(7), so there's hope that I won't _really_ go into writer's block. If that's the case, I wouldn't leave you guys hanging! This is my first story and I've recently logged into Fanfiction. If I want to end my series, I'd tell you. Give me time to fix myself up.

I'll love you all and your devotion despite me being quite an amateur writer.

~PC


	8. confirm(6)

**Innocent (君をのせて), Laputa / Castle in the Sky Piano Theme by Joe Hisaishi (Cover by Herman Tse)**

The night continued peacelessly onto the next morning; Sam had to endure an hour of interrogation and humility over the video he posted in the Internet of a standing Bumblebee and his so-called "last words." R- _ahem_ \- Mom and Dad had left me to watch over the house. It wasn't really decided, though; the elder Witwickys just rushed out of the house, made a bee-line for Ron's car, and blew me a cloud of dust. Of course, Judy was quick to take Mojo with her as well. And so, I merely locked the front and back doors of the house, and dumped myself onto the couch like a free-fell rag doll. My plans to sleep were, however, ruined when the house phone rang around three in the morning, informing me that Judy was found drunk in a bar not far from the police station. The manager refused to have her stay any longer until Ron and Sam finished business down at the station. As a result, I, the car-less Nyla, had to travel to a bar located a good six miles away by walk. At the beverage joint, I found a knocked out Judy in a pool of burgundy wine and a wine bottle labeled "Bordeaux" in the clutch of her right hand. In my amazement, she had not drowned herself despite how heavily planted her face was on the wine-sticky counter. To my chagrin, the manager demanded I had her cleaned up and taken immediately home. Compliantly, I did exactly that and had even changed Judy out of her dress at the lady's room. Instead, I took off my own sweater and slipped it on her. Heaving the usually blithe lady over my shoulders so that I'd give her a piggy back ride whilst holding onto her wine-soaked dress on one clenched hand, I attended a small financial transaction with the manager, ending with him allowing me to pay for the wine. I left the bar with a shaky good-bye, earning a high-spirited "Have a safe trip!" from one of the younger employees and sneering eyes from the manager.

The police station where Sam and Ron were was a good ten blocks from the bar, according to the manager. The first three blocks were completely with me in a state of excruciating pain due to being completely stiff from the 6-mile pre-walk. Few people who were out for their own pleasure or adventure seeking passed by, sharing a glance at me, but never made a move to help me. It was for the best, I thought, since I barely knew many people who were out this hour other than Abigail and a few more. Otherwise, I would be handing my virginity over to a hormonal-driven minor or my life to a vindictive psychopath. Either way, both Judy and I would be endanger, and I was already exhausted from all the walking. _I should have taken a breather and a water stop at the bar - no, at least the nearest Mc & D's. Then again, I don't know where that is or what stores are open 24/7._

I could feel my toes curling in my sneakers in a quick pace, agitation sweeping over my straining muscles. I had covered the fifth block by now. Glimpsing a bench next to a Metro stop illuminated in white through the several hairs of my escaped bangs, I stumble-ran to it. In my eagerness to finally catch a break, I nearly dumped Judy onto the bench in a dangling heap, but was careful enough to have her positioned in a reclined state with her head rest on my crisscrossed lap. Under the light, my eyelids were indecisively squinting and widening. Desire to fall asleep right then, there, and here swept across my brain like an epiphany, and I tried my hardest to stay awake. Grabbing my Nokia, I checked the time to see 5 AM. Inwardly groaning, I breathed repeatedly in an attempt to wash out the wheezing of my voice. I was so attentive to catch my breath and struggle with sleep that I hadn't noticed a car approach me. The looming headlights caught my left eye and I instinctively craned my head to determine the visitor. My eyes reflected off near-golden yellow, and I nearly started crying right then.

The headlights of the 2007 Camaro dimmed out, revealing no driver. My mind was slow, but its gears still grinded against each other. I was tired and needed a way to get back to Sam and Ron. The Autobot in front of me could just take me back to the Witwickys' place and I could not only help Judy up to bed, but finally have my couch to sleep on. Licking my dry lips, I played with my tongue and the inside of my mouth. I processed my next choice of words, each syllable eliciting a tongue to fold and push against the roof of my mouth. Finally, I gulp a small gulp to satiate my throat.

"Will you help me?" I asked, voice laced with hope and curiosity over the matter of trusting something different from myself. _Well, he_ is _an alien…_

The Camaro made no move, and for a minute, I feared that I was actually seeing a glimpse of reality - my reality. Was I dreaming this whole time? Is this really Judy Witwicky sleeping on me? _Am I going to look down and see a different person?_ My head tipped downward and… _oh…_ it really was Judy sleeping on me. My muscles relaxed then and I sighed acutely. The rumble of an engine and the scraping of gravel, tiny pops of rock, spooked me to look back at the Camaro, slightly sobered. The car had moved forward, inching its way to us.

It might have been because I was far too sleepy to start panicking, run away, or show any other gesture incited by fear or it may have been because the way how Bumblebee hesitantly approached me was similar to a toddler Hugh when I was on the verge of scolding him, but the corners of my lips perked up. The slight rise of my cheekbones and stretch of muscle told me I'd sent a reassuring smile to him. And that seemed all it took for the Autobot to open both of its front doors to me.

The next string of events flew through my head, from one ear to the left, like trees zipping past a moving car. By the time I woke up, I could only sit on the edge of my plush-like couch and recount that I'd taken a hands-free drive on Bumblebee with Judy asleep in the back, was half-awakened to Bumblebee blowing a horn in front of the Witwickys' place, and had begrudgingly hauled Judy up into the house. Too sleep-driven, I instead brought the both of us to the couch.

You'd never measure the amount of confusion and on-the-spot humility when Ron and Sam came back home with Mojo. Judy had been asleep on a sagged sitting position with my sweater fully open, flashing out pale skin and her bra. I, on the other hand, looked like I was about to murder someone, judging by Ron's stony face and Sam's step back from me. " _Did you two have strip poker?_ " was all that Sam had to ask before I tackled him to the floor. However, I was still sleep-deprived and unconsciously decided to sleep on top of the teenager who was lying in his own pain.

Overall, I was just glad Judy could hold her liquor; she didn't puke out her guts throughout this morning's endeavor and on the couch.

"Here, Judy," I acknowledged the middle-aged woman with a smile as I handed her a glass of freshly squeezed OJ.

"Enough with 'Judy' this, 'Judy" that!" she brazenly threw up a hand and sipped on the glass, leaning forward against the breakfast table and sneakily eyeing the mug of warm coffee in front of me as I made myself comfortable opposite to her.

I blinked at her but released a coy smile "Dad told me 'especially' not to spoil you too much. Besides, it all the more makes 'Mom' more valuable."

Judy pouted and I laughed at her statement, "Then I guess 'daughter' is a dead language."

I sniffed then, capturing a drinking Judy's attention, and sloppily quoted, "Of all the millions of daughters in the world, along with them a million fathers and a million mothers, but only fewer," I looked at Judy pointedly, "Judys." Then took a sip of coffee, tasting home.

The Witwicky stared at me with her eyes a fraction wider, probably processing what I'd just said in childlike wonder, and then gave me a Cheshire-Cat grin. She giggled then, like that of a school girl who had been tickled on her funny bone or had been asked if she had a crush. For a second, I saw a red haired beauty, age-ridden, and vibrant with mischief. _Judy's an aviator_. The silly thought crossed my mind the second I blinked and turned my attention to my coffee cup, worried that I would drop in mid-thought.

"Be careful, Nyla," my eyes arose at her addressal of my full first name, instead of same old, same old "Nyl." "Words like that might break my heart and tape it with sticky Scotch." At the words 'break my heart' my eyes cast downward and I let a slow smile etch on my face as I solemnly drank away my homeness, remembering that I would be _very busy_ today.

Judy had to run to the store for some of my choice things like an olive baguette and a bottle of avocado oil for my couscous and moong dal salad with veggies. She had been impatient to try out some of the foreign recipes I was comfortable conjuring on her stove, and I believe it was the first month living with the Witwickys that she had taken an interest in cooking, mainly in my own mental cookbook. And so, with Judy gone, Sam and I were in charge of the house and Mojo. I was basked in the serenity of solving math problems from one of Sam's old ACT guide books while he was preparing for a trip out to Gamestop to pick up a new controller since he stepped on his during his pursuit of a driver-less Bumblebee.

All of a sudden, Mojo hopped onto one of the kitchen's window sills and began barking at whatever was at the lower vicinity. Usually attentive to animals due to their history of predicting catastrophes, I locked my attention to Mojo and walked up to the dog, taking a peek out the window. There, a yellow and black-striped Camaro drove through the yard.

"What is it now, Mojo? Nyl?"

 **Durarara! OST - The Legend of the Strongest Man in Ikebukuro**

Sam, who had also heard the revving of the engine, glance from behind me and Mojo, and releasing a choked gasp and then scrambling for the phone. He typed in numbers, and at the second triple code, I deduced that he was calling Miles.

"Miles! Miles! Miles! It's Satan's Camaro!" I nearly had the urge to roll my eyes at the nickname and turned my attention to the said vehicle rounding the house. By Sam's dipping eyebrows, I could tell that Miles was giving him a hard time.

"Listen, listen, Miles! My car stole itself and now it's here in front of my house; no right next to my kitchen! No driver! You gotta' help me, man!" Sam begged into the speaker. His grip on the phone caused himself to press the speaker button, and I heard Miles's blatant "- the hell? Sam!"

Sam didn't acknowledge the phone this time and threw it to me. I caught it but fumbled with it for a second and prevented it from banging against the counter. I hissed out Sam's name, but he ignored it and made a running start out of the house yet again.

"Um, Miles?" I sheepishly asked into the phone, but found a dial tone. _Fuck, of course…_

I ran to the front door and made it to the threshold to hear a the creak and soft record-breaking sound of spinning bike wheels. Pink zipped out the door, and I leaned onto the door frame to see Sam already jogging and spinning a leg onto a pink bike. Bumblebee rumbled around the side of the house and was following after. The two receded into the distance, and I could only let out a groan. The patter of soft feet brought my head down to the end of the hall. Flying hair was all that told me to catch Mojo in my embrace.

"Oh no, you don't, Mojo. One teenager is enough, but a bouncy dog like you - no."

Then, the naughty dog had the audacity to fart due to my constriction. My arms loosened and out went the dog. _Oh, shit._

"Mojo!" I leapt after him, tightening my sweater with a second knot around my waist and quickened my pace to catch up to the dog.

Mojo, being small and quick, was advantageous to fit through small holes and gaps in fences and use trash cans and abandoned boxes across the neighborhood to lift himself over other suspensions, anything to get closer to Sam and the Camaro. I almost laughed at the dog's devotion to follow after one his masters, imagining that he had the mind of a bodyguard. While Mojo was crafty in his roundabouts, I was already streetsmart - metaphorically and literally. So, I was proud of myself to have made it to a Chihuahua licking a pained Sam, who was lying on his back in front of a Burger King and by a tree.

"Sam?" I asked in concern, doing my best not to send a glare to a group of giggling juniors who were enjoying an empty meal.

"Sam?" echoed the question. Recognizing the more sultry voice, I noticed Mikaela sitting right there, and stifled a chuckle at how cheesy the turn of events was. _Such a movie… oh wait…_

"Hey Mikaela," I sent a smile and only received back a confused look, "Sam's just in a bit of pinch."

"Yeah," Sam grumbled out as he stood up. I made my way to him and offered a shoulder.

"If 'pinch' means a sudden need to do a bicycle kick in the middle of the street, I think I can sympathize with every other junior who feels the need to do stupidly awesome things before the end of highschool," Mikaela smirked.

"You only live once, and shall die in an eternity," I rolled my eyes and heaved Sam up, "Come on, Mojo!"

Mojo only barked and both Sam and I looked up to see the dog facing down the street to slowing Camaro.

"Oh shit! Nyl, stay with Mikaela. I gotta' go!" Sam shoved me off and ran to the pink bike, which was in a near scrap-heap a few meters from us. He sent a look of "See you later" and nodded at Mikaela in a way of excusing himself. While Sam examined the bike to see it was still usable, I caught Mojo before it could run off and heard the ding of a bell. Sam spun around me and wheeled away from the approaching Camaro.

"Is he always like this?" one of Mikaela's friends remarked. I would have acknowledged, but the high-pitched emphasis on the words 'he always' told me that she was ridiculing Sam. The following series of chuckles and giggles from the group only proved my point. They expected me to be tired of my older brother, to be disappointed in him. _Fuck you._

"Yeah, he makes life just a tad bit fun for me" I gave a lopsided smile at the group. Of course, a few of them only raised their eyebrows, scrutinizing me.

"Are you guys fuck buddies?" one asked.

The question was _so_ **out of place**. I only mustered a puzzle-stricken, "What?"

"Oh come on, you're the 'Mary Poppins' of Tranquility. Haven't you been _poppin'_ cherries here and there?"

"What the hell, Macy?" Mikaela whipped her head to her friend at the suggestion, knowing full well how out of line it was, but I didn't care that she was sharing some of my frustration now.

It all made sense now; why Trent was so eager to have me as a guest during and _after_ the party at the lake.

"Oh, I'm sorry that I earned the misleading reputation of dick foreplay in the notion of educational necessity," I grounded out with a closed-eyed smile, "But I already decided to leave that job to someone else. If you're interested, I could get you a business card."

Silence overran the girls, and Mikaela inched toward me, anxious at my outburst and my oozing impatience over her 'friends.'

"You _bitch_ ," 'Macy' venomously hissed at me.

"Ah, if you mean, Mojo, then I'm sorry that his dick is unnoticeable to you," I waved at the group nonchalantly and grabbed Mikaela's hand, "Let's go."

Letting go, she was happy enough to lead me to her scooter, and away from Macy and her clique. The girl was wearing heels, from what I gathered from the annoying click-clack.

"Hey, get back here! We're _so_ not done!"

I heard the crack and pop of plastic behind me. I turned around and saw a crushed Coke, the golden-brown liquid pooling towards me. Outraged, I turned to a seething blonde girl with her shoulder bag hanging from only one of her shoulders, pulling down her shirt and flashing out her tank-top and lacy bra for the world to see.

"Sorry, but you're so not my type. As if I'd even fuck you but I'll give you this," I flew a birdie at her and followed after Mikaela, who was staring at me like I was crazy.

"You do realize that she could destroy you at school, right?" she breathed out with a bitter chuckle, half-amused at my reactionary responses.

"Then it's a good thing that I don't go to school."

"She'll target Sam." I could see the tension in her by the stiffening of her shoulders. _Was she really expecting me to not care_ for Sam _?_

"Even if she dares to hurt Sam, I might as well have every single person in the neighborhood against her," I remarked, slightly proud that I was on good terms with a majority of Sam's neighborhood.

"...I never knew you were this scary," Mikaela remarked as she turned the ignition on her scooter.

I swayed my head in thought as I sat behind her with Mojo tucked in my sweater, which was now zipped up to his chin like a baby carrier.

"Call it a sister's devotion," I confirmed with a smile plainly seen on the scooters side mirror.

"Sorry, but I don't have an extra helmet on me," Mikaela groaned in frustration.

"Just go, I think Sam's going to need protection, _more than I do_." This earned a hum of agreement from my senior.

With my arms encircling her waist, she glided through traffic and stopped in front of a red light. All of a sudden, a police car screeches to a stop just as Mikaela was deciding to take a right turn. Mojo yipped and I caught a glimpse of Mikaela's thoughtful expression as her eyes followed the police car, it's wailing sirens receding as it drove down toward Sam's direction. A pink bicycle in the middle of all these cars being followed by a yellow Camaro was far too noticeable.

"Hang on," Mikaela breathed out, as if finally deciding something important.

The scooter wasn't as fast as the police car, but Mikaela must've known full well that she shouldn't speed after it with all the traffic cams out. _She plans to save Sam without busting herself_ , I realized. I knew about Mikaela's past. Hugh was curious as to why Simmon's, the guy from Sector-7, was particularly harassing her during the first movie, and was unhappy that the script was far too vague and fast-paced for him.

It must have been a good five to ten minutes of trailing behind the police car when Mikaela and I found ourselves in a junk yard. Out of nowhere, Sam pushed the scooter and toppled it onto the street. Out of instinct, I held onto Mojo and made sure I rolled over the ground so that I wouldn't be lying on top of him. During my impact, I heard the crunching of ground being contacted with flesh and bone. There were no cracks, so I knew that I hadn't broken anything, but there was going to be a hell of a bruise on my left arm; I just knew it from the unceasing sting bubbling as time passed.

"What the hell, Sam?! You could've killed Nyla!" I heard Mikaela complain and saw the two of them rise up.

Sam only wheezed in desperation, "Sorry, Mikaela, but we gotta' go!"

My entire body was hoisted up, bringing me in a daze, and I felt Sam tugging me hard in a particular direction. My feet left the ground, and I found myself struggling arduously to keep up to my brother and his crush. Crushing metal and loud bangs brought my attention to spin my head, catching a glimpse of _walking junkyard_ covered in tints of black and silver. _Holy sh-_

The sound of skidding tires brought both Sam and Mikaela to a halt, causing me to smack my head zealously onto Sam's back. Another pain-filled daze with my hand cupping my nose brought me enough time to think that I was _not_ going to enjoy this _at all_. Mojo whimpered below my chin.

"Oh my god, Nyla!" Sam turned when he felt me crash against him, "I'm so sorry!; so sorry! Are you okay? Is your face okay?"

"Sam, what's going on?" Mikaela demanded, "Why is that car empty? Why is _your_ car _empty_ and driving itself?!"

My gaze caught on the sheen of yellow, but I was struggling to catch my breath and balance.

"Look, Mikaela," Sam addressed as we all heard the sound of car doors opening, "Just get in the car! Get in the car!"

I was shoved inside what I deduced was the backseat with a barking Mojo. My vision cleared and saw Sam and Mikaela dropping into the front through the right-front. The car doors slammed shut when everyone didn't even try to make themselves comfortable. Blowing dust, the car sped out of the junkyard, the acceleration pulling all of us back onto the seats. Poor Mojo only whimpered, openly uncomfortable and scared of what comes next.

It all happened in a blur.

 **The Used - Pretty Handsome Awkward** (of course...)

Bumblebee accelerated down a pathway behind the junkyard towards a ware house. Sam was holding on to his headrest while Mikaela anchored herself with her open window. I only grasped onto one of the snack wrapper compartments, occasionally patting the top of Mojo's head. I gingerly raised my head to see the police car from when Mikaela stopped at the traffic light. _Decepticon..._

Everything in the enclosed space where we all were at the mercy off, leaned toward the left as the Camaro turned sharply right, sped more, and crashed into a large stain-glass window of a cavernous, abandoned warehouse. Narrowly dodging support beams, the Autobot maneuvered expertly across the warehouse and was even brave enough to crash through a pile of junk, probably ignoring the heaps that scratched his paint and coat. _In a situation like this, you can't stop._

At the end of the warehouse's open space, Bumblebee rapidly slowed, causing Sam, Mikaela, and I with Mojo to suspend forward, scrambling for something to not bang ourselves against the inside of the car. He turned and made an inertia brake to skid horizontally and gain momentum for another burst of speed and escape a collision with the police car. My head craned to the back of the car and saw that the police car had accelerated and covered too much distance, giving it a hard time to make a sharp U-turn. Thus, Bumblebee had dodged the clutches of a Decepticon just by driving. _But, the real 'fun' begins soon._

The Autobot drove for a few hours into the outskirts of Tranquility, ultimately finding a place to hide at a power station. _Well, this is just safe._ The alien car had tried to wind off the Decepticon, but as expected of a blood-thirsty soldier, the enemy was persistent as hell.

"See, he's a good driver," Sam assured with a nervous chuckle.

"Are you kidding me? His driving nearly scared the heart out of me!" Mikaela countered, brazenly.

"Guys!" I hissed, drained from the adrenaline rush, "We have a - ghost car after us, and you pick now to talk about driving skills!" I petted a shaking Mojo, who whined softly and hid further in my sweater. _Whew, nearly slipped up._

Sam only sighed and attempted to turn the ignition. _He really wants to leave_. But smacked the dashboard, earning a fleeting cringe from me, in frustration that he couldn't _turn_ the keys.

"It's turned itself off," he breathed out in disbelief, Mikaela sharing his frustration with her own.

Bumblebee _had_ turned off his own engine, so when the grumble of _another_ engine amplified, signaling that _another_ motor was nearby, the three of us went silent. There came the police car, driving smoothly through the gaps of the open corridors, inching towards us - its prey. The foreboding growl of its engine elicited my fear that even alien robots could _smell_ us. The Autobot chose to hide in the shadows of an empty space. And just then, the menacing car stopped near our escape route. _It got us._ But the black and white car, made no move to cut us off. _It's goading us._

Sam softly gasped when the keys that were still on the ignition turned on their own. The soft growl of an engine arose from the depths of the hood. The front shone as the headlights turned on, and a loud mechanical growl followed after. _Like a mild roar_. The car lurched forward and passed the police car, stopping roughly at an open space near the station. The car doors opened and all of us were catapulted out by an unseen force. I groaned in pain from the impact of hitting dirt sideways, and rose up slowly with one arm propelling myself up and the other, keeping Mojo in my sweater. Mikaela had risen next to me with Sam a few meters across from us due to being on the driver's seat. Our attentions locked onto the yellow Camaro, and were completely blown off by what it did next.

It completely folded itself from the inside-out, developing a pair of legs, a torso, arms, and then a head with a complementing hood. The phase was so quick that all I could make out was suspended metal folding to a series of clanks, hums, and whirrs. Next, a roar of an engine caught our attention to the police car, accelerating towards us and finally _transforming_ itself to a humanoid, armored monster.

Without a moment of hesitation, Bumblebee grounded one of his metallic legs onto the earth, shaking the area where Sam, Mikaela, and I were. And then, he charged at the Decepticon, throwing in a literally iron-fisted punch.

"Holy shit!" Mikaela breathed out, as we all watched in awe at the battling iron giants.

"No kidding," Sam agreed, but it was as though he finally realized just how bad it was that we were on a battleground of two giant robots when he said, "We gotta get outta' here," a minute later.

Sam was making his way to what I supposed he thought was the exit of the station when a flurry of silver attacked him from the sandy earth. He cried out in absolute horror when he struggled to get the creature off of him. In his panic, he stopped and flailed his hands and legs, revealing to me and Mikaela a bug-like robot.

"Oh, my god," I cried out in horror when I saw a ridged face with ominous red-eyes and a moving piece of metal of what was supposed to be a _mouth_ releasing cackles into the Nevada air.

Mojo barked and leapt out of my makeshift carrier and ran towards Sam.

"Mojo!" I called to him, but stopped when the Decepticon _bug_ actually latched off of Sam and stepped back from the dog.

"A rodent!" I made out from the English garble exclaimed from the alien. For a moment, I thought that the bug would retreat, but it had its own countermeasures. It's arm-like components folded and blossomed into a claw and a spiked cutter. Mojo growled but was smart enough to realize the danger of the newly formed weapons.

"No, Mojo! Back, boy! Back!" I ordered it and hurriedly attempted to grab the dog and get it away from the Decepticon.

Not minding that I entered the fray, the Decepticon leapt at the space and was momentarily confused to see that he had landed on earth rather than Mojo. It clicked its head to me with Mojo in my hold and raised its weapons even higher, attempting to look more menacing. It worked. As I inched backward, it only wheeled quickly to me, reducing the distance between us, and I had no choice but to run away from it.

"Get away from my sister, you freak!" came Sam's yell as he kicked the bug a good couple of feet away from me and his new position, wheezing and coughing.

A mere kick wasn't enough to kill the bug, apparently, because it recovered quickly and launched itself at Sam yet again, circling to his back and latching onto his pants. _He thinks Sam has the glasses._ The main objective of the Decepticons finally reached me, and for a second, I actually thought that Sam _would be fine_. _They won't kill him._ Horrified of this cold thought process, I stilled on my spot with a struggling Mojo.

"Nyla!" Sam's plea released me from my self-reproach, and I immediately dropped Mojo safely to the ground.

"Nyla!" Mikaela's voice cut through the air filled with grunts and Sam's girlish screaming, and I turned to the teenager carrying a saw at the base of a hill. Thinking quickly, I lunged at the bug and grabbed hold of its wheel-like appendage and flung it to Mikaela's feet. The bug was in a daze due to my sudden action and being suspended in the air. It was all the time needed for Mikaela to strike the saw down at him, reducing him to talking head.

I stood on the top of a hill overlooking a satisfied Mikaela. Sam, now in his underwear, stumbled down the inclined earth and was breathing heavily when I approached the groaning bug.

"Not so tough for a head, are you?" Sam demanded rhetorically and kicked the head over the air. With a cry, the head landed somewhere into the foliage that bordered the power station.

 **All About That Bass - Meghan Trainor (instrumental)**

The clank of metal, at a far larger magnitude to the bug's own noises, brought all of our attention to what's behind me. An approaching Bumblebee, upright despite his struggle with a Decepticon, halted in front of me in colossal glory.

"Did you win?" I asked, actually curious to what happened to him and his opponent.

The question seemed to have caught the Autobot off-guard that he actually looked at me with clicking eyes. _Optics_.

" _ **~The runaway inmate had managed to escape the prison and attempted to steal a food truck~**_ "

"Wait, he's gone?" Sam coughed out, "Isn't that bad?"

" _ **~over for now~**_ "

"Sam! What are you doing? You don't know it's actually nice!" Mikaela chided a few feet away from Sam.

"I don't think he's an enemy, Mikaela," I reached down to a panting Mojo and picked him up, stroking his jaw, "He would've gotten rid of us long before, right?"

" _ **~And we have a winner!~**_ "

"I swear, you guys are the weirdest people I'd ever met!" Mikaela grunted.

"Hey, can you really talk?" Sam inquired at stepped closer to Bumblebee, slowing growing comfortable by making casual conversation with a colossus.

" _ **~XM Satellite One"..."Digital Cable brings you"..."Columbia Broadcasting System~**_ "

"So, you... so you talk through the radio?"

" _ **~Thank you, you're beautiful! You're wonderful, you're wonderful~**_ " the Autobot clapped his hands in open happiness that Sam was winning this 'Hot and Cold' game.

"So what was that last night?" Sam bitterly asked then, probably remembering something hardly enjoyable at the police station, "What was that?"

" _ **~Message from Starfleet, Captain...Throughout the inanimate vastness of space...And angels will rain down like visitors from Heaven! Hallelujah!~**_ "

Mikaela perks up at this, "Visitors from heaven... so you're, like, an alien?"

At this, the yellow giant points a finger at her and nods. Then, he converts himself to his car form. " _ **~Any more**_ _ **questions**_ _**you want to ask?~**_ "

Sam was first to move, and I followed after him. It was Mikaela who clamped a hand on his bicep, bringing his attention to her downright incredulous expression.

"What are you doing?" she whispered heatedly, the two teens were so engrossed in their staring contest, they needn't acknowledge me, who was already boarding the car.

Sam breaths and laughs, "He wants us to get in the car."

"I know that, but _why_?" she insisted.

Sam squared his shoulders at her with a hardened look in his eyes, as if he resigned himself to do some greater task, "Fifty years from now, when you're looking back at your life, don't you want to be able to say you had the guts to get in the car?"

The word "childish" crossed my mind at this. Of course, Sam would have this sudden rush of feeling that he was meant to be more than a small town boy. I chuckled bitterly as I was reminded of Shia LaBeouf and his impact of modern (2015-16) society. Then Sia's _Elastic_ came to mind and I pleasantly smiled inwardly of what I thought was brilliant and meaningful choreography.

I perked my head up to see Mikaela sighing heavily as she entered her own seat while Sam sat at the usual driver's seat. The two teens didn't have to close their own doors, Bumblebee shut them himself, turned the ignition, and race out of the power station's property, leaving behind the crushed couple of warehouses and power lines. _Tonight a child won't get to make a late-night escape._ Inwardly, I wondered if this thought was aimed more towards my disposition.

The Autobot cleanly drove through winding dirt paths, and entered urbanization. The roads became more asphalt and the car was drowned in luminescent orange lights as we sped down a tunnel to who-knows-where. The trip, being quiet and violence-free in comparison to earlier events, allowed me enough precaution to soundly sleep where I was. Even Mojo, who's usually awake throughout most nights, was still against me, his inflating and deflating torso giving me assurance that he was still alive.

"You can sit here."

And Sam just had to ruin it.

" _What?"_ Mikaela smartly replied.

"Just, s-sit here on my lap. Y-you look tired, and I-i don't think you'd be comfortable like that."

 _Get a room. Literally._

My eyes were closed, so the older teens must've thought I was asleep. I heard the rustle of fabrics and knew Mikaela was now sitting on Sam's lap, taking intimacy to the next level. In my chagrin, all I could do was try to tune out the world so as to not cringe at the cheesy romance setup.

"You know what I don't understand, Sam?"

"Yeah?"

"Why is it that he's a highly advanced robot, but transforms into a piece-of-crap Camaro?"

The car lurched to a stop at the side of the tunnel, earning several honks. Mojo woke up barking and I had to groan in frustration over my ruined nap.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no; No!" Sam chanted until he and Mikaela got out of the car, "Look what you did!"

I made my way out of the car, but the doors suddenly locked on their own. The radio warbled and I could only make out, "... _ **a gift**_."

The car made a U-turn and _heaved itself to the right_. The car was literally _standing_ upright on it's right pair of wheels and casually riding through the tunnel. Amazingly, Mojo and I remained unmoved where we were thanks to the seat-belts. The next thing I knew, Mojo and I were in a field of stars and colors of blue and green. The feeling of openness engulfed me. I felt like I had been dumped into a hole and found myself in a large cavern, it's walls undetectable by sight or touch. I was in _space_. I could tell because Mojo was barking, but no sound came out. And for the time being, I couldn't breath.

The spectacle was over in a matter of seconds and the car fell with a large jolt against the ground. The radio broke in warbles, the words "ouch" and a few indistinguishable words were released.

"Are you okay?" I finally spoke after a series of breath-regaining exercises.

" _ **~There is no earthly way of knowing~**_ "

 _...Did he just quote_ Charlie and the Chocolate Factory _?_

I heard whoops of joy and noticed Sam and Mikaela looking at the direction of the Camaro with expressions of pure delight and amazement as we got closer to the developing couple. _Oh, he changed his car form_.

" _ **~How do you like me now?~**_ "

 **Puppet (Mary's Theme) - Ib OST**

Sam and Mikaela could only grin at each other, unaware that I'd undergone an otherworldly experience and more attentive to the brand new version of the car. _They weren't even curious about why he took only me._ My mouth started to feel dry and a pit of sadness brought me to reality that the teens were more fascinated with the extraterrestrial aspect of Bumblebee, rather than him as a sentimental being as a whole. Unconsciously, I tightened my hold on Mojo, who looked up at my downcast gaze with a whine. _This will ruin all of us._ Even so, what also plagued my mind was my thoughts as Sam was attacked by the Decepticon earlier.

 _Why did I treat Sam like a... like_ that _?_ Hell, I had no idea what I thought of Sam back there. All I knew was that I was being _manipulative_. I treated Sam's life like a tarot card!

My growing confusion over my discovered change had the next thought scare me to the tips of my toes: _When did I start thinking like this?_


End file.
